No Way Out
by Drama-Duchess
Summary: Greg takes a near fatal bullet to the chest. As he hovers dangerously over death, the team deals with grief and guilt. They are determined to unravel the mystery that led to this demise. Season 8. *STORY ON HIATUS*
1. Trouble in the Panic Room

Author's Note: Hello and welcome to my second CSI fic!! Massive thanks to everyone who has read/reviewed my first CSI fic called "Bad Timing." Since I'm still traumatized by Warrick's death and Grissom leaving (even though it was prophesized that both was coming, it doesn't lessen the pain), this fic takes place in Season 8 - when Greg is still CSI level I, Warrick is still alive, Sara is still missing in action, and Grissom is still the boss. I have used some of what I created in "Bad Timing" as a basis for this fic in terms of characters. This will NOT be a slash story – just a story involving the platonic love associated with friendship mixed with a touch of angst and a hint of action.

Title: No Way Out

Chapter 1: Trouble in the Panic Room

Among the three of them, Greg Sanders was the first to step into the small cozy room. A harmless façade of bookcases and old furniture made the room appear innocent and chaste. If it wasn't for a fourth adjoining wall, the room would have made a complete square. Covered with a thin film of dust, the room seemed untouched or abandoned. There was no need for any suspicion because the stillness gave the impression that nothing could possibly go wrong.

With his flashlight in tow, Greg beamed it around the darkness of the basement in search of a light switch to illuminate the place better. He spotted an old stained glass tiffany lamp on a dusty end table. Greg looked at it curiously. The peculiar lamp had maroon-colored tassels hanging off each point in the lampshade giving it a rather antique but sleazy feel to it.

Greg absentmindedly disturbed the dust on the table as he reached for the copper lamp pull. He coughed lightly as he inhaled a mouth full of dust. An orange light came on when he pulled the cord. But just as he released the pull, a deep rumble shook the ground for a few seconds. Before anyone could grasp or react to what was happening, a long thick sheet of milky-white frosted glass came down from the ceiling and sealed off the square room, holding Greg captive inside. The heavy glass slid down forcefully leaving no time for Greg to attempt an escape.

"What was that?!" Nick Stokes yelled as he looked for the source of the noise. A handful of soil sprinkled on top of his head when the tremor finally stopped. He brushed a few crumbs off his cheek. "Greg!!" Nick cried when he realized what had happened to his friend.

Detective Jim Brass, who was standing only a few paces from Nick, watched the glass fall to a close. He, too, was shocked and bewildered at the sight of an unexpected trapdoor.

"LET ME OUT!!!" Greg hollered desperately. He pounded his fists on the glass that stood between him and the other side. His voice sounded muffled due to the thickness of the glass.

"Greg! Are you ok?" Nick shouted. He advanced towards the glass wall.

"Nick!!!" Greg replied. He wanted to sound brave and in control but this freaked him out. It scared the crap out of him.

"Hang on." Nick shouted. His nervous fingers felt around the grimy frame of the trap doorway for a switch or lever that would release the glass and free Greg. In his dismay, there were none that he could locate.

The blurry features of his colleague's worried face through the thick glass gave him enough reason to be anxious. With nothing but a chunky sheet of glass separating the two, they stood face to face, running out of ideas. Nick could see his breath forming on the glass as he tried to slide it any which way he could. The glass did not budge. He found a piece of rusted old metal that had been lying around the old basement and brought it down on the glass as hard as he could several times in hopes of breaking it, but the glass did not break. It was too thick and produced only a few scratches on the surface. He tried to pry the edges with the piece of metal but it did not intimidate the stubborn glass.

"I'm going to check around the other side." Brass said and quickly disappeared behind a wall in the labyrinth of a basement.

The strains of claustrophobia crept up on him as Greg clawed at the glass in hopes of finding a way out of the cell. Around him was a room filled with old memorabilia. Aged photographs and other posters tacked loosely on the peeling walls. There was a decrepit drawing table to the left holding a scatter of yellowing papers, some so old that the ink had faded away. To his right sat a broken and worn leather recliner with a web of a thousand cracks running through it.

Facing Greg in the opposite end was a large wooden cabinet towering almost to the ceiling. Cherubs and angels were carved into the design in the wood giving it a harmless yet mysterious feeling. The cabinet was eight feet away from where Greg stood. A few broken bookcases and other furniture littered around the grand cabinet, making it seem less threatening. About midway into the cell, was a dirty medium sized thread-bared rug with all sorts of old stains on it. The floorboards under Greg's feet squeaked when he shifted his weight.

"Stay calm. We'll find a way to get you out." Nick called to Greg.

"Hurry up!" Greg insisted in a high-pitched nervous voice. But his voice was distant and muffled because of the thickness of the glass.

"It appears to be some sort of panic room." Nick yelled.

"Panic room? What the hell is a panic room?!" Greg called back.

"Don't you watch movies, Greg? There is a movie with the same name. You know, the one with Jodie Foster…?" Nick tried to remain calm.

"This is not a good time to be sharing movie details." Greg hollered angrily. "Get me outta here!!" He pleaded. "I'm getting claustrophobic."

"A panic room is like a safe room." Nick explained while examining the surroundings to find a way to lift the glass. "Basically, it's just a secret place in the house where people can hole up in the event of an emergency."

"A safe room?" Greg shouted. Nick could detect the fright in his voice. "I don't feel very safe in here. This place makes my skin crawl."

"Greg, did you touch anything in there that might have triggered the mechanism to release the trapdoor?" Nick said loudly.

"All I did was turn on that lamp." Greg said. He rushed over to the lamp and tried to pull on the copper chain again in hopes it would reverse the mechanism. But nothing happened. "There must be another way." He sounded defeated.

"We'll find it." Nick promised.

"I found a door. But it's bolted." Brass huffed trying to catch his breath as he found his way back to Nick. "Back up is on the way."

"Greg? I'm going to be right back, ok?" Nick said. "Brass might've found something."

"Ok." Greg replied with an uneasy tone.

Greg listened to their footsteps fade into the distance until the silence confirmed that he was all alone. He heard a loud thumping noise in his ear and soon realized foolishly that it was just the rhythm of his own heart beating. He couldn't tell if it was an adrenaline rush or anxiety that swept through his veins. But an odd, intense feeling developed in his gut made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He wished Nick and Brass would hurry back. There was something about this room that suddenly wasn't right. He almost felt like he was being watched.

Two long minutes passed before he heard Nick's footsteps coming towards the frosted glass.

"How ya doing? Ok?" Nick called out.

"Now I know what a lab rat really feels like." Greg answered sheepishly. Although he managed a joke, his voice was deeply stressed.

"Greg, listen to me – do you see any possible doors or openings in the room? It may be hidden." Nick said.

Nick could see Greg's shadowy figure move away from the frosted glass. Greg inspected and felt around the walls for voids but there was nothing suspicious.

"I can't find any." Greg reported as he came back in front of the glass.

"Brass found a bolted door on the other side. It looks like it could lead into that room somehow. He's working on it as we speak. More help is on the way." Nick reassured. "We'll have you outta there in no time."

Suddenly the sound of a small click came from somewhere in the room. It was like the sound of someone turning a key in a lock. Greg spun around and had his back against the frosted glass wall. His eyes darted nervously around the room and settled onto the direction of the grand cabinet with the cherub wood carvings. His heart raced and banged violently in his chest.

"Uh…Nick?" Greg said in an agitated tone.

"Yep." Nick grunted as he tried to pry the bottom edge of the glass with an old crowbar.

"I-I think someone or some thing's in here." Greg cried in horror.

"Don't be silly." Nick replied without stopping his efforts. "You're just paranoid. Believe me when I tell you I know all about being trapped in confined places." He wiped the sweat off his forehead with a sleeve.

If anyone knew anything about being trapped, it was Nick. The grotesque experience of being buried alive was not something anyone could readily forget. Nick understood the tricks the mind can play on a person when they're caged under such massive duress. The desperation, the paranoia, the terror, and the inability to think rationally were just the beginning. Once the dementia set in, the battle to survive shifts and hope diminishes. No one should ever have to go through that.

"The important thing to remember is that I will get you out." Nick offered. "Just relax."

Greg froze when he heard the noise again. This time, there was an additional squeak like from a rusty old hinge. He didn't know what he should do. His professional stamina told him to go check it out. But his instincts told him to remain where he was. In his two years as a CSI field investigator, he had never encountered anything this bizarre. And he thought he'd seen everything already. This was something out of a sci-fi movie. He wondered if this was a dream. Petrified, Greg watched the knob on the cabinet door turn slowly. He hardly blinked.

His breath quickened as the door swung open. Because of the darkness, Greg could not see anything except for what resembled a figure of a man lurking in the shadows. He heard the man's ragged breathing. It reminded Greg of the way a bull puffed right before it charged. He noticed the burly figure was holding something in his hand.

"Who's there?" Greg shouted at the cabinet. "S-show yourself." He tried to administer a bit of authority to his voice but failed miserably.

"Greg? What's going on?" Nick called when he heard Greg's frantic shout.

Greg realized all too soon what the man was holding when he brought it up to shoulder length. To his horror, it was a gun pointed right at him. Greg's dark brown eyes grew wide with fear. He couldn't take his eyes away from the barrel of the gun. There was nowhere to run and no weapon to take up for self defense. The inability to escape rendered him helpless and cornered like an animal. Greg knew what it meant when he heard the life-threatening sound of the firearm being cocked. Every muscle in his body tensed.

"NO!! PLEASE DON'T!!!" Greg screamed in a near sob.

"What's happening in there?!?!" Nick cried when he heard Greg's merciful plea. It was the last thing he heard before a loud crack of gunfire erupted.

The force of the bullet was so strong that it knocked the wind right out of Greg and threw him over backwards. After losing his balance, his back slammed hard against the wall. An instant spray of blood splattered across the frosted glass upon impact followed by the dreadful sound of Greg's weight falling to the floor in a loud thud.

"GREG!!!!!!!" Nick shrieked in horror upon hearing the gunshot and seeing the blood smear. He hammered his fists desperately at the glass.

Brass came running towards the sound of the gun shot. With his gun drawn, he swept the area cautiously for movement. He eventually came face to face with the bloodied glass. Aghast at the sight before him, he swore vilely under his breath. He immediately radioed the dispatcher stating the situation and the need for emergency medical assistance.

"GREG!!!" Nick screamed. _This can't be happening. This can't be happening at all._ He thought in horror. The blood in his veins ran cold as he tried with all his might to break the glass. Out of desperation, he fired his gun at the glass, in hopes of taking it down. But the glass deflected the bullet and did not even leave a crack.

The fraction of a second it took for the bullet to enter his body felt like an eternity. Time swam in slow motion. Greg, like a deer staring into the on-coming headlights of a Mack truck, couldn't move a muscle in his body. There was nothing he could do to save his own life. Things were suddenly different when faced with the barrel of a gun. He had no idea how Brass could deal with it on a daily basis.

Greg knew the bullet struck him. He just wasn't sure where exactly. A hot, burning sensation ripped through his upper torso. For a brief moment, he felt the air being sucked out of his lungs then staggering pain like as if his chest was about to explode. The strong acrid smell of fresh gunpowder and burnt flesh intertwined.

He felt a sickly, warm, gushy feeling in the side of his neck before his back was thrown against the wall. The back of his head must have smacked against the wall pretty hard because after that, his vision blurred terribly. His legs were useless, as was the rest of his body. He lost consciousness before his body hit the floor.

Gravity had caused the blood droplets to pull downwards. Even through the frosted glass, Greg's nebulous form could be seen lying motionless in a heap on the floor.

The rage inside Nick exploded because he knew they were losing precious seconds not being able to gain access to Greg. This only made Greg one step closer to death, especially since the extent of the injury was unknown.

_Oh please, oh please don't let Greg be dead._ Nick prayed repetitively.

Filled with horror and shock, Nick picked up anything he could find lying around and made continuous attempts at breaking the glass. Out of fear, anguish, and frustration, tears blurred his vision and started streaming down his face. With clenched jaws, he did nothing to brush the tears away. He was afraid it might take up too much time. Every second was crucial. Nick didn't want to admit it, but he feared it was already too late.

After being violently beaten by a band of hooded delinquents in a dark alley in the middle of the night, Greg became the center of his friends' empathy. Witnessing the repercussions of that night gave the entire team a wake up call. They remembered sitting in the waiting room to hear news from the doctor about Greg's condition. And when they finally got to see him, they were in for a shock. Greg had just come out of surgery. His face was covered with so much bruising and swelling that it made him barely recognizable. There were defensive wounds covering the length of both arms. His swollen hands and knuckles were bandaged up. And these were just the injuries that were visible. The hospital gown and blanket concealed the rest of the damage. With his head swathed in bandages and a tube pushing oxygen into his nose, he laid there in a drug-induced sleep. His friends were glad that he was asleep. The sight brought tears to their eyes.

Ever since that dreadful day, the whole team made a promise to themselves that they would look after Greg. Greg's rank was only CSI level I and because of his newness, he needed much guidance and protection. The team, especially Grissom, felt the full weight of guilt.

"Damn it!!" Nick shouted in vain. Greg's blood splatter on the glass mocked him.

"It's bullet proof. Unbreakable glass – built like how a safe room should be built. There must be a way to reverse this." Brass said in between huffs as he reached around the walls to look for any switches.

"We don't have time to wait for the fire department to arrive. It'll be too late." Nick said. He dropped to his knees and turned to the blurry figure lying on the floor on the other side of the glass. He rapped his fist on the glass. "Greg?? Can you hear me??" He placed his ear against the wall in hopes of hearing a reply, a word, a moan – anything that would imply that Greg was still alive.

There was no answer. No movement.

Suddenly, there was a humming noise that came from somewhere above the wall structure. Brass and Nick looked up to see what was making that sound. There was a rumbling noise identical to the one they heard earlier. Nick and Brass shielded their eyes as a sprinkle of debris from the ceiling rained on their heads.

The rumbling eventually stopped. And like as if by magic, the thick frosted glass wall lifted upwards by itself. The glass wall miraculously disappeared into the dark ceiling and silence resumed all around. A whiff of stale air blew out of the stuffy room. Nick noticed more splatters of blood on the wooden planks of the floor in front of him. His eyes turned to the motionless body lying a few feet away.

Greg was lying on his side with his arms draping limply over each other. His stillness made it appear like nothing more than an innocent sleep.

"Greg?" Nick scurried over. The moment he put his hand on Greg's shoulder, he saw the blood. Fresh blood had soaked through the entire front of Greg's CSI vest leaving it slick and soggy. A small puddle of blood had collected under Greg. The wooden floorboards absorbed the blood and left a dark blot of a stain.

Nick turned Greg over gently. Through the light from the tiffany lamp, Nick was able to see Greg's face. It was deathly pale and a true shade of white. Greg showed no signs of regaining consciousness when his name was called. Nick couldn't control his hands from trembling when he reached for Greg's neck to feel for a pulse. With his middle and index fingers around the side of Greg's neck, Nick's grim face changed to one with hope.

"There's a pulse! He's alive!" Nick exclaimed in a triumphant yet shaky tone. There were enough reasons for worry.

Nick held his breath as he proceeded to inspect the injury. He pulled open Greg's vest to reveal a blood soaked shirt and repulsive gore. Brass cringed at the sight of the wound. On his chest under the right clavicle, perhaps about three ribs down, was the remnant of a messy gunshot wound. The heat of the bullet melted the fibers on the t-shirt around the wound. Blistered flesh tainted the color around the lesion leaving blackened smudges. As a result, the rather large rip dabbled with both fresh and dried blood looked exceedingly grotesque. It made locating the exact entrance of the bullet all the more difficult. New blood was constantly forming and seeping out of the wound.

Without hesitation, Nick quickly applied direct pressure to help stop the bleeding. He pressed his bare hands over the wound. Greg's blood oozed through his fingers almost immediately.

"Oh God!" Nick moaned as he frantically held his slippery hands in place. "We have to get him to a hospital."

Brass, who knelt beside Nick and Greg, berated into his radio for status on the ambulance. Judging by the tension in his voice, it was pretty obvious that he was just as worried as Nick.

Detective Jim Brass was always known to keep his cool in all situations. With over twenty years of experience on the force, he's dealt with every possible situation. In his law enforcement career, he had been caught in the crossfire three times. The first was a minor bullet graze to the scalp during a bank heist. It was his first "badge of courage" and quite proud of it. The second was a bullet in the leg that left him miserably bedridden for a month. The third and most recent was the through-and-through to the shoulder that almost sent him into the grave. William Cutler, a suspect in a triple homicide, was the one who pulled the trigger.

The relationship between Brass and Greg was never a close one. Everything was strictly professional. It took a while for the friendship part to kick in. Brass saw Greg as an eccentric smart ass. And Greg saw Brass as unmovable.

Like everyone else, Brass made the big turn around after Greg's beating. Feeling incredibly sorry for the kid, Brass decided to give him a break. Brass often compared Greg to okra – it's an acquired taste. You don't like it at first but when you got used to it, it's not so bad. With all the teasing set aside, Greg was glad to have Brass' friendship at last.

"Where is that ambulance?" Brass demanded firmly through the radio. "We need it here NOW." He ordered with authority. A response came shortly stating that the ambulance was two blocks away.

"Please hang on. Hang on." Nick begged the lifeless body sprawled on the floor.

"I'm gonna go meet up with the paramedics and show them the way down here." Brass said as he got up.

Nick nodded and brought his attention back to Greg. He could hear the sound of Brass' quick footsteps diminish as he went further and further away from the basement.

Nick's head was reeling with dizzy thoughts about Greg's current state. He told himself that this had to be some sort of cruel nightmare that he was experiencing. He willed himself to wake but somehow deep in his gut, he knew this was not a dream.

Nick remembered how insanely giddy Greg had been earlier that evening. For the first time in years, Greg had managed to pull off a practical joke on Nick successfully. It was the old Vaseline on the locker door handle prank. Nick couldn't believe he fell for the simplest trick in the book. Greg chose the Vaseline joke because it was something so simple that he guessed Nick would never have expected. He was so proud of himself and relished in his glory. Instead of vowing for vengeance, Nick congratulated Greg for a job well done and advised him to use it on Warrick next time. After all, Greg did learn from the best.

All the laughter from the young CSI was gone. What was left of him lay sprawled across the floor in his own blood. To think that a life could be snuffed out in less then a second, well, that was just incomprehensible. It was, by far, too morbid to think he may never hear Greg's laughter again. Tears fell from Nick's eyes.

The two paramedics finally weaved their way into the room with their medical kits and a stretcher in tow. With stern faces, they assessed the problem quickly. Nick moved back and allowed the paramedics to work on Greg. He stood there with hands dripping of blood and watched the paramedics cut open Greg's clothing. The initial shock refused to leave his mind or body. Greg was the only thing on his mind.

Brass stared at Greg and shook his head in dismay. _Dear God – he's just a kid. Just a kid._ He thought grimly.

Brass watched the paramedics hook Greg up to all sorts of tubes and contraptions. He turned away. He just couldn't look at it anymore. To keep himself occupied enough so he wouldn't succumb to tears, Brass headed towards the grand cabinet. He pulled the knob and the door opened with a squeak.

The cabinet was hollowed out. There were no shelves – just an empty space. The area was big enough for a man to conceal himself with room to spare. Brass jumped up into the cabinet and inspected the structure of the interior. He banged around the wood with the heel of his fist and discovered a loose panel in the deep end of the cabinet. He pried the panel free with a makeshift crowbar he'd found lying around. He let out a gasp when the panel fell over backwards to reveal a dark tunnel.

"Found something." Brass called from his crouched position in the cabinet.

By then, the backup had arrived and the whole vicinity swarmed with uniforms. "I want you to canvas the area. No one goes in or out of this place. Take your guys and find out where this tunnel leads. I want to know about every corner." Brass threw orders at his officers. The officers nodded in attention and sped to work.

When Brass made it back to where Nick stood, the paramedics have stabilized Greg and strapped him securely onto the stretcher. They were ready to transport the patient to the hospital.

"How is he?" Brass asked to no one in particular.

"Still unconscious. He's lost a lot of blood." Nick said with a faltering and near distraught voice. He looked up to meet Brass' worried gaze. "It doesn't look good."

"Have you called Grissom?" Brass inquired.

"Not yet." Nick answered in a weak tone.

Brass put a comforting hand on Nick's shoulder. "Do you want me to call him?" He offered.

"No, it's ok. I'll do it." Nick said.

"Greg'll be alright." Brass said optimistically. They watched the paramedics quickly gather up their equipment.

"I'm gonna go with them." Nick said as he wiped Greg's blood off his hands with a napkin.

"Ok, I'll take care of things around here." Brass said. "Keep me posted on Greg."

"Sure." Nick muttered as he hurried after the pair of paramedics. He didn't want to dump everything on Brass. It was not his style at all. He knew responsibility and always came through. But Greg needed him more than anything at that moment.

Nick had adopted Greg as a little brother since Greg's days at the lab. Greg hailed from San Gabriel, California and was new to Las Vegas. He didn't have any family here and no friends. He was fresh out of Grad school and managed to snag a job one state over with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. It was not a difficult transition because there wasn't much to leave behind. His mother moved to New York to start a business and his estranged father had not been an imminent part of his life since he was about five.

Greg appeared to be a quirky kid with an eccentric sense of humor. He proved to be highly efficient around the lab. He treated the equipment with as much regard as one would a respected elder. But even through his expertise, Greg always seemed to have a way of hiding his loneliness in a mass of jokes. He behaved the way he did mostly because he wanted to be liked. Always seeming to be the happy-camper with everything going for him, Greg didn't want others to find out he had a vulnerable side.

Perhaps Nick saw something in the youngster that somewhat reminded him of himself. Maybe Nick knew what it was like to move to a brand new environment, not knowing anyone and forced to build up a life in a place he was not familiar with. He decided that he needed to take him under his wing and protect him as if he were his blood-brother. The teasing was affectionate and somehow, Nick knew that Greg was aware of it. He looked out for Greg. But this time, he failed.

The paramedics loaded Greg into the back of the bus with ease and routine like they had done a million times before. One of the paramedics motioned for Nick to go in before boarding the ambulance himself. The driver slammed the back doors shut and scurried around to the driver's seat.

The ride was bumpy as they sped into the darkness of the night with sirens wailing. Lying on the stretcher with a chest full of old blood and bloodied bandages, Greg remained inert to his surroundings. He was sandwiched between Nick on one side and the paramedic on the other. Nick hung onto his seat as he helplessly watched the paramedic go about his business.

Greg's pulse continued to get weaker. His ashy complexion was partly obscured by the oxygen mask that clung to his face. The neat grey colored t-shirt that Greg wore had been mutilated and stained with dried blood. Greg's chest was covered with an array of tubes and probes along with blood-soaked bandages. Nick turned his attention to the shallow rise and fall of Greg's chest. It seemed like breathing was a difficult task for Greg especially when he drew in air.

Somewhere in the background of the beeping and buzzing of machines, Nick could hear the driver of the ambulance radio the hospital to have a trauma team ready to receive them when they arrive at the ER.

"Greg?" Nick whimpered softly at the unconscious figure lying in front of him. He leaned forward and gently touched the top of Greg's hair. "You're gonna be ok, bro." He whispered. The salty lump balled up in Nick's throat and hot tears blurred his vision.

End of Chapter 1

Author's Note: Thanks for reading!! Hope you get a chance to sign a review.


	2. Greg's Journey through Hell

Chapter 2: Greg's Journey through Hell

A distant symphony of sirens blared somewhere in the knotty depths of consciousness. Sharp turns and sudden braking of the vehicle tossed his body around on the stretcher. He felt like a flimsy rag being laundered in a washing machine. Pain shot through his entire body as he suffered the consequence of every bump in the road. Even the mere beating of his heart seemed to ache in his chest.

Suddenly, like as if on cue, a warm mellow sensation filled his veins and began to numb the pain. It must've been the morphine that was infiltrating his body limb by limb, muscle by muscle. He wanted to let out a sigh of relief but he was robbed of his strength as well as his vocal ability. He felt the oxygen mask cupped to his face. Each time he tried to open his mouth to create a moan, a blast of oxygen forced its way into his nose and mouth prohibiting him from even making the tiniest sound.

In his dizzy stupor, he heard a soft mechanical buzzing in his ears in addition to all the other miscellaneous sounds that filled the ambulance. The garbled mixture of sounds irritated him. It made his brain tired of trying to sort it out. He wished they would stop. Drifting off into the darkness in order to be free of the wicked noise was so inviting that he almost succumbed to that temptation. But a particular sound grabbed his attention and he couldn't help but hang onto it. Someone was calling his name.

"_Greg?"_

He knew that voice. It was so familiar yet he couldn't figure out who it belonged to. There was certain tenseness and apprehensiveness in the voice.

"_You're gonna be ok, bro."_

Nick. It was Nick. Nick was the only one in the whole world who called him "bro." Greg didn't know why he didn't recognize Nick's voice in the first place. Perhaps it was the drugs that made his memory fuzzy.

_I can hear you._ Greg answered in his thoughts. He wanted so much to say it out loud.

He was unable to open his eyes. They felt glued shut. His whole body was useless. It seemed like the only part of him that worked was his hearing. He heard sniffling.

_Was Nick crying?_ _No friggin' way!_ Greg thought. He could only recall one time that he ever saw Nick shed a tear. Greg remembered watching the webcam showing a live feed of Nick buried alive. It was the saddest thing Greg ever had to endure. Till this day, he still had nightmares of watching Nick struggling desperately for oxygen in that coffin.

It took a lot to make Nick cry. Aside from Grissom, Nick was the strongest person Greg knew. There was no situation that could ever make Nick cry – unless it was really that horrible. As far as Greg was concerned, Nick was known to be quick tempered but the man never cried. Nick often flew into a rage when those close to him were victimized.

Nick's fury flared when Greg was brought to the hospital after being beaten. Greg had no idea his well-being meant so much to Nick. In fact, he never expected anyone to really care. He was truly surprised and touched by how his friends pulled together to help him. Not many would do what they had. They considered him family and the affection moved him to tears.

"_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."_

Greg wondered why Nick kept apologizing. Nick's voice came in a whisper. Added with the occasional sniffles, he sounded broken. There was so much pain in his tone.

"_This is all my fault."_

_What?! How could this be your fault? _Greg answered Nick in his was frustrating being able to hear things but not being able to respond to them.

"_I shoulda looked out for you, bro."_

_But you have! Nick, why are you blaming yourself?! Foolishness has gotten me here. It's got nothing to do with you. _Greg thought. He wanted so badly to wake up and set the record straight.

"_Oh God, please be alright. I'll never forgive myself if you die."_

_I'll be ok. It can't be that bad. Look, it doesn't even hurt – anymore anyway. That's a good sign, isn't it? _Greg thought. He was oblivious to what was really happening in his body.

"_Hang on, Greg. Hang on. We're almost at the hospital."_

Greg was trying to focus on solid thoughts but the clarity of his mind was starting to dissolve into a fog. He caught bits and pieces of Nick's words, but couldn't piece it together to make sense of what he was saying. Something strange was happening. He was drifting. His mind was getting farther and farther away from reality.

"_Greg? GREG!!"_

Greg couldn't understand why Nick was calling at him so sternly with such anguish in his tone. He almost felt his heartbeat slowing down thump by thump. Was he dying?

"_Don't you dare do this to me. GREG!!!!"_

Those were the last recognizable words he could grasp before fading into deep unconsciousness. Complete Darkness.

* * *

Some Hours Later:

Noise. He couldn't understand if they were made by human or machine. Beeping and slow incoherent grumbles came from all directions and attacked his ears. It frightened him terribly and wanted it to stop. His eyes opened to a slit but he couldn't see anything. There was a blinding light and figures moved and hovered over him. His vision was misty like someone had thrown a web over his sight obscuring everything into a mixture of nothingness.

Pain. He suddenly felt a very uncomfortable pin prick in his chest. There was a strange flavor in his mouth – one that he had never tasted before. As he tried to squish his tongue around, he realized that something in his mouth prohibited him from moving his tongue. He inhaled a deep noisy breath through his mouth and felt the painful scratch of plastic rubbing against his throat. He tried to swallow but that only made things worse. The endotracheal tube rubbed uncomfortably against the insides of his throat. It did not budge when he tried to cough it up or swallow it down. He choked violently. When he tried to move his arms, pain exploded throughout his entire body. The array of life sustaining wires and tubing attached to his body restricted his movement and tied him down. They weighed on his body. He felt like he was caught in some sort of giant spider web. The endotracheal tube was supposed to ensure air is able to reach the lungs but at this moment, it made it harder for him to breathe as overwhelming fear set in.

Panic. Gagging and choking fiercely, Greg clawed at the tube in an attempt to remove it himself. Heart wrenching inhuman sounds came from his mouth. He became more and more irritable as he struggled for breath. The horror of being suffocated by a constricted trachea made him hysterical. He moaned loudly as a few tears squeezed through the corners of his eyes. He felt a tremendous amount of pain each time he tried to move his right arm. Something was pinning down his arm. His left hand, however, was mobile and he reached up to the mouth piece. In the process, he deliberately plucked out a fist of the wires that were attached to his body.

Voices. The more he thrashed, the louder the voices around him grew. There were scuffling of feet and shifting of equipment around his bed. He couldn't tell how many people were in the room. But before he could go for another fist full of wires, a powerful hand came up and seized his wrist.

"_Hold him down while I extubate." _A female voice instructed firmly. She sounded in control.

Suddenly, she quickly and skillfully yanked the ventilation tube right out. The removal of the tube was rather uncomfortable and made Greg feel nauseous when the stiff tube came up. The sensitivity caused him to cough and retch severely. He wasn't used to the tube being rammed down his throat. The rawness made it seem like his throat was on fire. The coughing fit caused more pain. With all his might, he tried to wrestle his hand free of the grasp. Greg wanted to know who was doing this to him. He couldn't see through the tears that filled the slits of his eyes. He squirmed and whimpered.

"_Greg, don't fight me." _A male voice demanded. _"You don't know what you're doing. You can't remove those wires."_

His raw throat did not allow him the pleasure of articulating words. For failure to realize what was happening to him, Greg wailed in opposition. It sounded awfully frightening.

The grasp around his wrist tightened and pain shot through his body. His sour face contorted into an agonizing wince. He cried out expressing pain. Almost immediately, the man softened his hold on Greg's wrist.

"_I'm sorry Greg." _The same man said. There was a hint of guilt in his voice. _"I-I didn't mean to hurt you."_

The man still had a firm hold on Greg's wrist. Greg balled up his hand into a fist and tried to break free. Something in his gut told him to fight until every last ounce of energy in him have expired. If he was going to die, he vowed he would not go down without a mean fight.

"_Greg, listen to me." _The man's voice was sincere and warm. _"It's me – Grissom. It's Grissom. No one's going to harm you. You're at the hospital. You're safe." _

_Grissom?_ Greg thought. He seemed to relax at the notion that Grissom was by his side.

"_Greg, I need you to calm down. I'm going to let go of your wrist. Just don't touch anything on you. Ok?" _Grissom sounded close by but everything was in a fuzzy haze. Perhaps it was the drugs or even worse, the injury that caused him to be so disjointed. Greg tried to focus but his pasty eyes were just not cooperating.

Greg felt other hands, he guessed it to be a nurse, poking and prodding him as she reattached the wires to his body. Greg stopped struggling and conformed to Grissom's advice.

"_That's a good boy." _The nurse said sweetly as if she were talking to a twelve year old. She went about her business. _"You'll be up and about in no time."_

Grissom let go of Greg's wrist and took a hold of his hand to show his support. Greg tried to speak but only a rough grunt came out of his mouth. Scared out of his wits, he squeezed Grissom's hand until his knuckles turned white. Greg trembled, refusing to let go at any cost. His head throbbed and pain consumed his feverish body. Feeling quite horrible and confused, Greg cried wretchedly. Sobs got caught in his parched throat.

"_I know. I know. It's gonna be ok." _Grissom comforted softly, not allowing too much of his personal emotions to get in the way.

Greg wanted to tell someone he was in a lot of pain but he couldn't get his message across. The conversation swirling around him weaved in and out. Most of it made sense but the sounds lingered and echoed in his head. He wanted so much to say something.

The tears were uncontrollable. New tears replaced the old tears quickly. His facial expression twisted into one of unbearable agony as he cried. Grissom murmured something important to the nurse.

The nurse injected Greg's IV with pain killers and almost instantly, Greg felt himself drifting again. The pain reduced to a tingle and exhaustion took over. Greg whimpered. His heavy eyelids forced his eyes to remain closed. However, his grip on Grissom's hand was still somewhat firm.

Grissom gently wiped away a stray tear from Greg's face with a thumb. Greg gradually loosened his hold on Grissom's hand as he fell deeper and deeper into sleep. It wasn't long before Greg's hand went totally limp.

Grissom looked up and shot a troubled glance to the other end of the room where Nick, Catherine, and Warrick stood dumbfounded at what they had just seen. They exchanged expressions of concern. Grissom returned his attention to Greg.

Stone-faced, Nick was the first to mobilize. He exited the room without a single word. Warrick followed him out and found Nick with his back against the wall, facing away from the room.

"You ok?" Warrick asked.

"Actually, no I'm not." Nick answered with arms folded across his chest. He leaned the back of his head onto the beige colored wall and stared blankly at the florescent lights attached to the ceiling. "I can't see Greg like that anymore."

"I know what you mean. Poor kid. He's messed up pretty bad." Warrick said.

"I was there." Nick breathed.

"Nothing you could've done." Warrick shook his head.

"I can't help but think this is my fault." Nick closed his eyes.

"In that case, we are all to blame." Warrick said.

"You and Catherine weren't even there." Nick looked at him squarely.

"That may be true but we are a team. We share the glory, we share the blame. For better or for worse, right?" Warrick tried to make Nick smile in light of the situation.

Nick turned around and looked through the Plexiglas window. Grissom had not moved from his position next to Greg. Stroking Greg's hand lightly, Grissom seemed deep in thought as he stared at the scathed body lying in the bed. Catherine stood by the foot of Greg's bed and watched the nurse do her job.

"He_ is_ going to be ok, isn't he?" Nick asked skeptically.

"Heck, yea." Warrick said in the most definite voice he could find. From the looks of things, they both knew their assumptions were premature.

* * *

Some More Hours Later:

Grissom's shift had ended hours ago but he was still holding vigil by Greg's bedside. Catherine went home to check on Lindsay. For lack of a home life, Warrick and Nick refused to leave the hospital. They sought refuge in the waiting room. The uncomfortable chairs allowed sleep to come sporadically.

Grissom sat on a sagging sofa chair that he had pulled up next to Greg's bedside. The lack of sleep did not bother Grissom. Willpower had very little to do with his motivation to watch over Greg. It was something the doctor said right after surgery that made him worry. _The bullet ricocheted off the third rib bone from the top. It slowed the bullet but not by much. It damaged his right lung. He sustained a second degree concussion. That blow to the head did not help matters. However, the MRI's don't show any major injury to the brain. The kid is lucky to have made it this far. Most people in this situation would have easily died from excessive blood loss. But I see this kid's a fighter. He just hung on. Someone up there must really be looking out for him. But it's too early to make a definite prognosis. Complications could arise…_

His hard eyes stared at the stable spikes on the heart monitor recording Greg's heart rate. The soft bleeping sounds from the cardiograph were steady and hypnotizing. When he grew tired of watching the screen, he diverted his attention to the rise and fall of Greg's chest cavity.

Greg's complexion was ghastly. It was the usual white-faced, dark-circle-under-the-eyes, purplish-lips look. He looked like death. There was no doubt that the surgery and blood loss had taken a lot out of him. In addition to that, the drugs on top of drugs left him highly sedated. Grissom wondered how Greg was able to find the strength to fight him so fiercely just a few hours ago.

Grissom saw the fingers on Greg's left hand move slightly. He leaned in closer. In the stillness of the room, he could almost hear Greg's ragged breathing as he took in oxygen from the breathing tube in his nostrils. Greg's sleeping face was tilted towards Grissom.

Greg's fingers moved lethargically again. His breathing increased.

"Jim, I think he's waking up." Grissom said.

"He's been asleep for an awful long time." Brass observed.

"Greg?" Grissom called anxiously.

Greg's eyes opened slowly. He swallowed the bitterness in his mouth. His tongue felt thick and swollen. Barely able to utter a single understandable word, he groaned and sighed wearily.

Groggy and still reeling from the drugs, Greg didn't seem too alert or attentive to his surroundings. In fact, he appeared to be disoriented and confused. He turned his head slightly and sort of darted his eyes around before locking his stare at Grissom.

"Don't be scared. You're at the hospital." Grissom continued in a clear voice.

Grissom did not expect an instant reply. Greg felt a stinging sensation in his chest no matter how deep or shallow a breath he took. Either way, it was bothersome and caused great discomfort. He clenched his teeth to defer the pain.

"I'm sorry for being so rough with you earlier." Grissom began. "I just didn't want you to hurt yourself."

Greg blinked. He saw an IV drip bag above him dispensing sporadically some sort of clear yellowish liquid into the tube that ran all the way down into the crook of his arm. Drugs. Greg never felt so weak and helpless in his life.

"They had you on artificial respiration for a while after the surgery. The endotracheal tube was removed when you were able to breath on your own again. Believe me, it wasn't a pretty sight." Grissom smirked. "I'm glad you're doing much better than before though."

Greg only stared at Grissom's moving lips.

"I know you're in a lot of pain right now, but you're going to be fine." Grissom reassured, even though he had doubts.

Greg felt like he needed to say something. But his throat was dry like he had sand in his mouth.

"Sorry." Greg slurred.

"Nothing to be sorry about." Grissom cut in. "Everyone's very worried about you. Just concentrate on getting well." He forced a smile. "I spoke to your mother. She's flying in from New York. She'll be here soon."

Greg replied with a moan and winced as he tried to change positions. His lips quivered as he willed away the pain.

"How do you feel?" Grissom asked.

"Like crap." Greg muttered. Apparently, amidst the life-threatening ordeal, he still had his sense of humor in tact.

"That's what I figured you'd say." Grissom said. "You gave us a big scare. We thought we'd lost you."

Hearing Greg inhale oxygen in long drags made Grissom cringe with remorse. He felt sorry for the kid and wished there was something he could do to help ease the pain.

Greg realized then that talking made things worse. It hurt to breathe. His blood started feeling warm again. It was the familiar feeling associated with powerful medication ripping through his veins. As much as he wanted to stay awake, his eyelids started to droop. Somehow, he knew why Brass was there. He was not ready to talk and be put through the wringer again. He just wanted to be left alone to sleep.

"Brass is here with us. He needs to ask you a few questions." Grissom said to Greg.

"I'll try to be brief so you can rest." Brass said after clearing his throat.

Greg alternated glances between Grissom and Brass. He grimaced and closed his eyes, hoping they would take the hint.

"Greg? Don't go to sleep yet." Grissom said. "This is important. We want to know who did this to you, but you're the only one who can help us."

Greg murmured something incoherently. He blinked tiredly at the two gentlemen. His eyelids felt like they weighed a ton. His breathing became steadier as he hovered in his semi-drowsy state. He wondered how long it would be before he was down for the count again.

"He's slipping." Grissom said observantly. "This is probably not a good time to question him."

"Greg, please. If there's anything you can tell us. What you saw, what you remember…" Brass said while trying to be sensitive.

Greg looked to Grissom for help.

"The drugs are strong, huh?" Grissom said. "But you're in this business so you know how critical it is to get information out of the victim as soon as he wakes." He reminded.

_Victim. _Greg thought groggily. That was all he was reduced to now – a victim – a statistic. He wanted to cry but he was so consumed with exhaustion that he didn't even have the energy to cry.

Greg finally mumbled something that made Grissom lean forward to make out the word. Grissom's eyes furrowed as he followed the movement of Greg's lips.

"Scorpion." Greg repeated in a difficult huff.

"Scorpion?" Grissom questioned quizzically in a perplexed tone.

"No more." Greg whimpered. "P-pain." He begged.

"Ok, Greg. We'll let you sleep now." Grissom gave in. He turned to Brass. "You'll have to come back later."

Brass nodded to Grissom solemnly. He was at the hospital for the last hour and a half waiting for Greg to wake so he could have first crack at him. There were no immediate leads and anything Greg could contribute would be a big help. Riding on very little sleep, Brass and his men spent the night tearing down the entire basement in their search for the assailant. The secret tunnel lead into other tunnels and those tunnels turned into other tunnels, which lead to the sewers. It seemed as though the assailant disappeared into thin air.

"Alright kid. Feel better, ok?" Brass said to Greg, relieving him of his interrogation. With that, Greg closed his tired puffy eyes and gave himself into the darkness. Brass looked to Grissom. "Scorpion." He said. "That mean anything to you?"

"Not a clue." Grissom shrugged.

End of Chapter 2

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! And thanks for all the reviews last time! I appreciate it very much. Hope you get a chance to sign a review to this chapter too!


	3. Code Blue

Chapter 3: Code Blue

"My aching back!" Nick complained as he sat stretching out his sore muscles. He arched his back and twisted his waist from left to right to loosen the muscles.

The hair gel was gone from his usually well-kept hair leaving it a bit disheveled. Light stubble dotted his chin. He blinked tiredly while massaging his lower back.

"Geez, if you think that's bad. My neck is killing me." Warrick groaned. He leaned forward and kneaded the back of his neck. "They gotta do something about these chairs, man." After a deep yawn, he made an attempt to smooth out the creases on his shirt.

The morning bustle of day shift nurses and hospital staff roamed the hallways with authority. A chatter of cheerful conversation at the nurses' station erupted as the secretaries pecked away at their keyboards. Some of them were shuffling papers while randomly singing along to a familiar song on the radio. Others were amicably chuckling at a joke. They went about their duties habitually. No one seemed to heed the two overnight visitors who had sought refuge on the chairs in the waiting room.

"What time is it?" Nick said while squinting at the bright sunlight that came through the windows, indicating that it was sometime in the morning.

"It's 10:30." Warrick answered after consulting his watch. "It's been a long night."

"I was hoping it was all just a horrible nightmare." Nick said. "But nope – owww – this is very real." He rubbed his stiff muscles again.

They were shaking off the results of their uncomfortable sleep positions when a familiar voice caught their attention.

"Hey there sleepyheads. Looks like you guys could use some coffee." It was Catherine. She had changed into a more relaxed look – a zip up sweatshirt and jeans. Her blond hair was tied back into a ponytail. She walked towards them holding a paper tray containing three cups of coffee.

"Thanks Catherine." Nick said as they each took a cup. "You've been here long?"

"No, I just got here." Catherine said. "I came back as soon as I could."

Absorbed in their own thoughts, they sipped their coffee in silence. Greg was their friend and it pained them to think that they came so close to losing him. They never expressed it much, but Greg was a valuable member of their team. It saddened them tremendously to think of Greg clinging to life.

With her nose directly above her cup, Catherine inhaled the fragrant aroma of her java. Despite the solemn situation, she chuckled to herself lightly reminiscing about a particular moment in time not too long ago. Nick and Warrick looked up.

"Coffee." Catherine said.

"What about it?" Warrick asked inquisitively.

"Do you remember the time when Grissom stormed into the lounge complaining about how awful our office's coffee was?" Catherine said.

"Yea, he said it tasted like acid." Nick smiled.

"He made a beeline for the coffeemaker and Greg came out of nowhere squealing like a girl that it was his pot and how no one had a right to take from it." Catherine chuckled.

"Yea, I remember. He said it was his _private_ stash." Warrick said as he put a humorous emphasis on the word 'private.'

"Blue Hawaiian – forty bucks a pound." Nick began.

"Only grown a couple times a year on the Big Island hand-picked to perfection." They all chimed in reciting the line simultaneously.

"Greg used to say that a lot." Warrick said with a laugh.

"And do you remember what Grissom had to say to that?" Catherine said eagerly.

"Yea, yea. He said – Good. You're using _my_ water so I guess that makes it community coffee." Nick said imitating Grissom the best he could.

They all laughed whole-heartedly at the punch line for a few seconds before their facial expressions turned sad again. Catherine suddenly cupped her mouth and burst into tears. She just couldn't hold it in anymore.

They had so much history together that it was hard not to go on an emotional roller coaster ride when one of their lives was hanging on by a thread. They never imagined things could go this way. The notion of Greg being shot down was unimaginable. Greg believed in science and evidence. He was passionate about his work and always did the right thing. Although he sometimes made himself appear to be a rascal, he was sacrificial and noble when it came down to business. He would never even hurt a fly. How could anyone have the nerve to cause him harm?

"We know." Nick comforted Catherine in a hug.

"This is just not fair." Catherine bawled.

"We can't lose hope." Warrick offered. "Greg's strong. He'll make it."

"But what if he doesn't?" Catherine cried. "What if he doesn't make it? And then what? What are we going to do?" Her icy blue eyes welled up with tears.

"That's just not going to happen." Nick replied.

"I can't let Greg be just a memory." Catherine said tearfully.

"One thing that Greg's taught us was to be optimistic. He always managed to put smiles on our faces with his zany jokes no matter how tough things got." Warrick said. "We gotta be optimistic about this."

"He's too valuable to us." Catherine stammered. "He's too good a friend."

"Yea." Nick said and gave her another comforting hug. "I'm sorry." He whispered in her ear secretly taking full responsibility for Greg getting shot.

Catherine found tissues in her handbag. She was blowing her nose when they spotted Grissom strolling by. Brass left hours ago, but Grissom had been holding vigil by Greg's beside all night and into the morning. He never once left Greg's side. They all stood up, eager for any news.

"Grissom." Warrick called. Grissom noticed his team lingering in the waiting room.

"I thought I told you guys to go home." Grissom said. He looked beat.

"We know but we just couldn't." Nick spoke up.

"How's Greg doing?" Catherine asked.

"He's sleeping." Grissom said. He was surrounded by the solemn faces of his subordinates. "He's a little better but not completely out of the woods." Grissom added. "He says he feels like crap. Hey, I don't blame him."

"Greg woke?" Nick's voice sounded a notch more cheerful having heard that Greg was conscious.

"Only briefly." Grissom said while rubbing his tired eyes. "He's in really bad shape. The surgery weakened him. He needs sleep more than anything right now."

"Did Brass question him?" Warrick asked.

"It was a good attempt but he wasn't able to get much out of him. Greg wasn't very coherent at the time."

"What did Greg say?" Nick pressed.

"He said Scorpion." Grissom answered with a sigh.

"Scorpion?" Catherine said. "That's all we have to ride on?"

"He wasn't specific and he passed out before we could get in another word." Grissom said.

"I don't care if I have to process every last speck of dust from that place. I'm going to find the person who did this to Greg." Nick said with determination.

"Scorpion could mean anything." Warrick scratched his head. "A tattoo. A logo. Something the gunman said. An actual scorpion…There are dozens of possibilities." His voice trailed off.

"We need to go back to the crime scene." Catherine said as she grabbed her handbag off the chair.

"I'll call Brass and get a copy of the blueprints of the building and the sewer system that runs under it." Warrick suggested. "Maybe we can figure out which way the suspect went."

"My processing kit's in the car. I'll go with Catherine to the crime scene and see what we can find." Nick said. He ran his fingers through his hair hoping to tame a stray strand.

"Hold on people." Grissom called as he watched his team divide up the work amongst themselves. He was humored yet impressed by his team's perseverance. They all looked at Grissom with questioning expressions.

"You guys have the night shift, remember? It's day time right now. You're technically off duty until 6 pm." Grissom reminded. He knew what the reply was going to be but he wanted to hear it anyway.

"It's Greg we're talking about here." Nick said. "He's our friend. We're doing this for him."

"Yea, like what are we gonna do? Go home and sleep?" Warrick said with a short laugh.

"We can't just sit here and put more distance between us and the gunman." Catherine said. "We need justice for what's happened to Greg."

"That's right. We shouldn't wait till tonight to start." Nick said.

"What about sleep?" Grissom tested the integrity of his team.

"We don't need it." Warrick answered. "We've pulled all-nighters before. This ain't something new for any of us."

"If anyone needs any sleep, it's probably you." Nick said to Grissom.

"Excuse me, the last time I checked, _I _was the senior supervisor of the night shift. I don't take orders from you." Grissom said in his stern tone, trying hard not to crack the tiniest smile.

"It's just that you've been in there watching Greg all night. At least we were able to get some sleep." Nick drew back.

"Actually, we can handle it if you want to catch some Z's." Warrick added.

"Thank you for your concern. But I'm just as anxious as you are for solving this case." Grissom said after a pause. A proud little smile formed on his lips while looking from one person to the next. "Your determination is astounding."

"If it was one of us, you know Greg would do the same." Catherine's voice faltered. The others nodded in agreement.

"Besides, there's some lunatic trigger-happy psycho running around Vegas popping people for no reason. We gotta get him off the streets before anyone else gets hurt or worse." Warrick said.

"Ok then. Seems like you people already know what to do. Meanwhile, I'm going to check with Doc Robbins on the autopsy report of the dead woman that was removed from the crime scene." Grissom said.

Catherine, Warrick, and Nick seemed a little preoccupied with looking in the direction of Greg's room. There was a bit of reluctance in wanting to leave the hospital.

"He's going to be ok here. The nurses are great. Greg's struck so much sympathy in them that they've been coming unnecessarily around the clock to check up on him. He has the nurses eating out of his hands without even knowing it." Grissom tried to take light of the situation. "Besides, Greg's doctor told me he'll call me if there are any changes." He reassured.

Satisfied with Grissom's words, the crew gathered their belongings and left the hospital.

* * *

"Gunshot wound to the upper abdomen ruptured her spleen." Doc Robbins stated casually as he continued to extensively examine the body on the slab. The air in the lonely autopsy room was frigid, but Doc Robbins was used to it. He wore pale green scrubs over his clothes and on his feet was a pair of grey and white New Balance orthopedic sneakers.

"So the cause of death was exsanguination?" Grissom asked keenly. He absentmindedly drew up his collar a bit to retain some warmth.

"No, you didn't let me finish." Doc Robbins said with all the patience in the world.

Dr. Al Robbins had been the Chief Medical Examiner for the last twenty years. He always preferred dealing with the dead to the living. Besides, things were far less complicated when he worked with the deceased. The dead spoke their own language. Doc Robbins found a fascination with the silent stories the bodies were able to tell.

At the ripe age of fifty-seven, he had a severe limp and walked with the assistance of crutches. His prosthetic legs were a consequence of a horrible car accident that resulted in amputation. This set back, however, did not hinder his ability to do his job. He was still as sharp and efficient as ever.

"She was shot at close range. The bullet grazed her spleen causing internal bleeding but that's not what would've killed her. The bullet pierced the left ventricle, went through the superior vena cava…" Doc Robbins held up the heart to show Grissom the bullet holes. He placed the organ back onto the tray before continuing. "And the bullet came to a stop right here at the top of the sternum." He pointed to the cracked dent in the bone where the bullet was once lodged.

Grissom looked sparingly into the Y-incision on the stark naked, bloodless stiff that was lying on the slab before him. The victim was a sinewy woman in her mid-thirties with long brown hair. She had a rather sharp chin and pointy nose. Her facial features reminded Grissom of a mouse.

"She was shot through the heart." Grissom said in a pondering tone.

"And you're to blame. You give love a bad name." Doc Robbins recited without a melody. He took off his black-rimmed glasses and waited for Grissom's reaction.

"Oh, it's Bon Jovi." Doc Robbins finally said when Grissom gave him a puzzled look. "Cici, my eldest daughter, used to be a big fan when she was about fourteen. She cried and screamed until she lost her voice at all six concerts. Happiest days of her life, I would say." He explained.

Grissom gave a humorous glance like as if Doc Robbins was the weird one in keeping track of pop culture.

"So in conclusion, the cause of death was a bullet penetrating the heart. Death was instant." Doc Robbins said, coming back to the main subject. "I know you're here for the bullet." He handed Grissom a glass jar containing the bullet fragment that was removed from the sternum of the dead woman.

"Thanks. I'll get this to ballistics." Grissom took it and slipped the jar into the pocket of his lab coat. He was about to turn around to leave when Doc Robbins spoke.

"Gil, how's Greg doing?" Doc Robbins inquired. His lips seemed to disappear into his scruffy silver beard.

"He's had better days." Grissom replied.

There was a short pause between the men. Doc appeared to be waiting for more information. Grissom sighed like he had the weight of the world upon his shoulders before he began again.

"Greg almost died. His heart stopped in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Nick was there with him. Three tries on the defibrillator. Three times, Al. He was that close." Grissom's tone sounded horrified.

The salty lump in Grissom's throat thickened but his hardened eyes refused to shed a single tear in front of his good friend. "He's lost a lot of blood and in constant pain. They got him off the ventilator but his breathing is still ragged from the injured lung. I watched him for hours. I was with him last night and this morning."

"It's hard to believe something like that could happen to one of us." Doc Robbins shook his head. "I hope he'll be ok."

"Me too." Grissom said. "I better get going. I'll talk to you later." He stammered.

"Sure thing." Doc Robbins said.

Grissom left the coldness of the morgue and headed up to the ballistics analysis lab.

* * *

Uniforms have cleared the crime scene long ago. The yellow tape around the premise still remained and occasionally flapped in the breeze. No one loitered around the old two story brick-faced home. Nick and Catherine pretty much had the run of the place to themselves. Nick gave Catherine the grand tour of the crime scene, since he was familiar with it.

He showed her the bedroom where the vic was found and described some theories that could have occurred. They photographed anything suspicious that they discovered, bagged and tagged whatever potential evidence they could find, dusted and lifted prints, tested surfaces with luminol, and collected blood samples.

Once they were done with that, they headed to the basement, the place where Greg was brutally struck down by a bullet.

"Brass says he figured out how the panic room mechanism worked. You pull this chain for the wall to come down." Nick explained as he pointed to the stained-glass tiffany lamp on the table. "Then to reverse the mechanism, there's a switch inside this tunnel over here." He went to the grand cabinet, threw open the doors and climbed through the hole. Catherine followed and saw the rusted lever used to raise the wall.

"Creepy." Catherine said. Her echo resonated inside the tunnel. She beamed her flashlight around and saw nothing but darkness. There was an occasional sound of dripping water somewhere in the shadows.

They hopped out of the cabinet. Nick went to the tiffany lamp and tugged little chain. As soon as he let go of the chain, a rumbling noise erupted from all around. Soil from sprinkled from the ceiling and the frosted glass wall came crashing down. After closing in the panic room shut, the noise disappeared and stillness resumed.

Catherine dusted herself and readjusted the black CSI baseball cap that she wore on her head. The first thing that caught her attention was the blood splatter on the inside of the glass at eye level.

"Is that...?" Catherine said.

"Yea." Nick swallowed.

Catherine took a few steps closer and stared at Greg's dried crusted blood smeared on the wall. She shook her head in disapproval and disgust. Her eyes eventually diverted to the desiccated blood pool on the floor. She couldn't believe that much blood came out of Greg. It took her breath away.

"He really didn't have much of a chance, did he?" Catherine said as she scanned the room.

"No." Nick replied. The memory was still fresh in his mind. He hid his eyes under the rim of his cap.

"Nowhere to run. Poor kid." Catherine muttered. She turned away from the blood splatter and observed the surroundings.

Nick on the other hand, stared at the dried blood without so much as blinking an eye. Anger fired behind his eyes and rage boiled in his veins. He was mad because his friend was in trouble just steps away and there was nothing he could do about it. The sense of being helpless made him furious.

"Nick?" Catherine called from the drawing table. She noticed his deep concentration on Greg's blood.

"Yep?" Nick answered as he twirled around.

"We're gonna get him, you know." Catherine said. "We always do."

"I know." Nick said. He walked towards Catherine. "I still can't believe this happened. I don't think I can get over the shock."

"You're going to have to try. We have a lot of work ahead of us. Look at all these old papers. We should get them back to the lab." Catherine said.

Nick and Catherine processed the entire room, leaving nothing uncovered. The part that bothered Nick the most was photographing Greg's blood splatter. It reminded him of all the grotesque things that happened in the ambulance and the little episode he had seen unfold in intensive care. Catherine offered to do the photographing, but Nick refused and said he was fine with it.

Catherine compiled items into cardboard boxes. Making several trips, she hauled the boxes to the car. With flashlight in hand, Nick jumped up into the grand cabinet. He dusted the entire cabinet inside and out for prints and managed to pull a bunch of partials. To his dismay, there was nothing solid.

_Mandy is going to have a field day with this._ Nick thought sarcastically as he placed a stack of prints into an envelope.

When Nick finished, he beamed the light all around the interior and found nothing suspicious. He proceeded into the entrance of the tunnel and carefully scrutinized the area.

"I don't believe it." Nick muttered as he checked every square inch of the entrance.

"Don't believe what?" Catherine said while taking her cap off and pushing back a few strands of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail.

"That he made a clean getaway." Nick answered. "He had to have left _something _behind."

"Well, the lab is running our dead vic's prints in the system as we speak. We should know something when we get back." Catherine said.

"She didn't have an ID on her. Convenient, huh?" Nick said while searching all around. "Make's our job harder."

"I'm thinking prostitute. But then again, her conservative clothing doesn't really make her out to be one." Catherine said.

"Wait, I think I found something." Nick said as he knelt down in a crouched position by the frame of the passageway.

Wedged in between the plywood, was a dirty cigarette butt. It appeared to have been discarded aimlessly. Nick took a pair of tweezers from his pocket and carefully picked up the cigarette butt. He looked at it with great scrutiny.

"I hope we get something off this." Nick said as he placed his findings in an evidence bag.

"Should we venture in there next?" Catherine said as she nodded towards the darkness of the tunnel.

"Maybe we ought to get all this stuff back to the lab first. Besides, the blueprints of the sewer system will help. Warrick and Brass is working on getting that together." Nick said. He stood up and stretched. "Also, getting something to eat would be good. I've forgotten how hungry I was."

They had spent a good part of the day at the crime scene bagging and tagging. Food never once crossed their mind but now, as the day drudged on, they realized just how famished they were.

"We'll pick up something quick on the way to the lab." Catherine said.

"Burgers-n-fries ok with you?" Nick said. His stomach vibrated with hunger.

"Sure, why not. My arteries aren't clogged enough yet." Catherine jested.

* * *

"Griss, we've got the blueprints for the sewer line that runs beneath. I talked to Nick. He and Catherine are going to drop off the evidence collected from the brownstone. Then we're going to meet them back at the house. You got any hits on the bullets?" Warrick's voice came through the phone.

"I'm in ballistics right now." Grissom replied into his cell phone. He motioned Bobby Dawson, the ballistics expert, to bring over the paperwork.

The usual smell of gunpowder and metal lightly wafted the small ballistics lab. There were gun parts and shell casings all over the counter from other cases that Bobby had been working on. They had little ID tags or stickers attached to them. Grissom made his case a priority and insisted on immediate results.

"The vic's bullet is a direct match to the one taken out of Greg. Striations match. It came from the same weapon – a berretta." Grissom said while holding the phone with one hand and the results in the other.

"We got the records on the owner of the house – a woman by the name of Nadine Sharp." Warrick said. "Single, no kids, worked as a receptionist at a spa called Serenity Zen. Her boss said she hadn't reported to work since yesterday. Didn't call in sick – nothing."

Grissom heard some loud honking in the background as Warrick spoke, which indicated that Warrick was probably caught in the evening rush hour traffic on the boulevard.

"It could be our Jane Doe down in the morgue. We're running her prints through the system. We'll have some information soon." Grissom said.

A small beep sounded off from Grissom's phone. "Warrick, I've got another call. Keep me posted." He said before disconnecting the line. "This is Grissom." He said to the new caller.

There was a short pause.

"What?!" Grissom shouted into the phone. "What happened? When was this? How long ago?!" His panic-stricken and thunderous voice was tense.

Bobby, who had been processing other material in the meantime, stopped when he heard Grissom's outburst.

"How is he now?" Grissom demanded. His tone was mixed with fright and apprehension.

Another short pause.

"Alright…I see…Ok." Grissom stumbled. "I'll - I'll be right there. I'm on my way." He snapped the flip phone shut with one hand and headed out the door.

"Er, what's going on?" Bobby asked innocently. Grissom was already passed the threshold when he turned around to answer Bobby. He stuck his head back into the door.

With tears caught in his throat, Grissom spoke. "That was the hospital. It's Greg. He went into cardiac arrest."

Before Bobby could ask for more details, Grissom was already gone.

End of Chapter 3

Author's Note: What's going to become of my poor Greg?! *SOB!* I know I'm so cruel to leave it there…Hope you've enjoyed this chapter. Thanks for reading! Please sign a review if you get a chance.


	4. Grief and Heartache

Chapter 4: Grief and Heartache

In a mad fury, Nick stormed into the foyer of the hospital and flew passed the reception counter occupied with nurses and secretaries dressed in their colorful print uniforms. For some reason, he knew exactly where to go and did not need to ask for directions to find his way around the hospital. The women behind the counter gave astonished glances at Nick and to each other, wondering where he was running to. Nick was walking way too fast for any of the women to form a question. Leaving Catherine to answer for her colleague's hastened temperament, Nick didn't show any interest in hanging around for explanations. There was only one important thing on his mind.

Still wearing last night's clothes, his pace progressed into a light jog as he headed down the hall towards the intensive care unit. He tried to disregard the uneasy feeling gnawing in his gut that something was very wrong. He wanted so much to ignore the possibility that he had to face his biggest fear.

He pushed open the doors leading into the entrance of the intensive care unit. With visiting hours over long ago, there were only a handful of people occupying the waiting area. Nick caught a glimpse of Grissom's figure sitting at the far end of the room.

"Grissom!" Nick called hysterically. "What's happened? W-where is he? Is he ok?" He stumbled while catching a few disagreeable stares from the nurses for not lowering his voice. "Please tell me he's ok. Just tell me he's ok." He rambled on the verge of tears.

Grissom got up and took Nick by the shoulders to calm him down. "He went into cardiac arrest about an hour ago. They have him stabilized now."

"Stabilized? That means he's gonna be ok, right?" Nick pressed.

Grissom looked away, avoiding eye contact. "It just means he's stabilized. They don't know anything yet."

Nick had been so distraught with seeking answers that he failed to realize Grissom was not alone. Seated next to Grissom was an attractive woman with medium wavy dark brown hair tied back with a hair clip. A few loose strands of hair had gracefully fallen over her forehead. Though her weary face showed signs of age, her high cheekbones accented her symmetric facial features. She was wearing a brown raglan knit tunic with khaki trousers. Her outfit was not altogether sloppy, but one thrown together in haste.

Dishevelled, the woman still appeared to look rather stunning. She found comfort in a wad of old tissues that she kept clenched in her fist. Her tired, bloodshot eyes indicated that she'd been crying excessively. The sides of her nostrils were pink from the nose blowing. She tried to compose herself when she saw Nick approach. If it wasn't for the soulfulness of her eyes, Nick wouldn't have recognized the woman at all.

"Ms. Hojem." Nick's greeting faltered a little.

There was no correct way of confronting Greg's mother. Nick remembered her to be tough and somewhat callous from the last time they met under similar circumstances. It seemed a long time ago but then again Greg getting beat up like that was not supposed to happen. She had every right to feel bitterness and anguish for her son's suffering.

Nick was prepared to take on the brutal words and perhaps a nice strong slap across the face. He felt he deserved it. But he was in for a surprise.

"We meet again, Nick." The woman replied softly, trying to hide the distress in her shaky voice. "But please, call me Ingrid."

"I'm really sorry for what happened to your son." Nick blubbered with tears welling up in his eyes.

She couldn't hold in her grief any longer. Tears rushed forward and streamed out of her eyes uncontrollably. In broken sobs, she threw her arms around Nick and hugged him with all her might. Nick returned the hug and allowed a few of his own tears to fall.

"Greg means a lot to us too." Grissom offered.

"He's all I have." Ingrid spoke with a small Norwegian accent. She dabbed her eyes with a tissue and wiped her nose.

Ingrid Hojem was no longer the tough, over-protective, disagreeable, blame-throwing, threat-casing waif that terrorized Grissom's team. That was over a year ago and time had created a new Ingrid Hojem. Even Grissom was a little drawn back by how much she'd changed – not only in personality but also in appearance. In fact, Grissom did not remember her to be so strikingly beautiful – something he hadn't noticed before.

Ingrid had every right to be hysterical. After all, this was her son's life that hung on the balance. Any irrational conduct that may arise was excusable. However, it surprised Grissom that she chose to be as reserved as she was. He had expected her to be inconsolable.

She made it clear to Grissom, before Nick arrived, that she did not resent anyone for what happened to her son. She may not have understood what the job meant before, but she did now. Even though she knew the risks, it was difficult to face the facts and possibilities. She couldn't stop crying because, like a typical mother, she just couldn't let her baby go.

"We share in your pain." Nick said. "Greg's our friend and we love him just the same."

"I'm glad to know that Greg has such a great circle of friends." Ingrid said.

There was an extremely awkward pause as they each searched for words to describe how they felt. Catherine broke the silence by entering the room. It took her a while to catch up with Nick.

"Catherine! Greg's alive." Nick blurted before she could say a word. "He's alive."

"Oh thank God." Catherine sighed in relief.

"He's stabilized. That's the only news we're able to get." Nick repeated.

"I called Warrick. He's on his way." Catherine said.

"I – I'm gonna go in and see him." Nick said while looking nervously from Ingrid to Grissom.

"It's the first door on the right." Grissom said. "Nick?" He called when Nick turned to leave. Nick looked over his shoulder. "Don't expect much when you go in." Grissom advised gently. Nick left Catherine to offer her support to Ingrid.

Nick breathed a sigh before turning the door knob to Greg's room. He closed the door behind him softly, like as if he was afraid the loud noise might interrupt Greg's sleep. Funny noises from the machines were soft and steady.

There were tubes and wires sticking out of the unconscious figure lying in the bed. The first thing Nick noticed was Greg's ghastly complexion. His sunken face was drained of its healthy natural glow and left the sickly impression of death. Nick's eyes traveled down to Greg's gaunt shoulders and he realized how incredibly thin Greg had gotten. He drowned in his hospital garb. And the thermal blanket seemed to envelope him in the massive bed.

Nick stood over Greg, staring at the young CSI's face like as if his eyes were going to spring open at any moment. But Greg remained motionless. Anger and tears burned behind Nick's eyes.

"Damn you Greg. Damn you!" Nick blasted. He swallowed the growing lump in his throat. "Why did you pull a stunt like that? How could you be so selfish? Don't you have any consideration for the people who care so much about you? I hate you." He added bitterly.

He stared at Greg for a second and to his horror, realized what he had just said. How could something so harsh come out of his mouth? With the palm of his hand cupping over his mouth, hot tears filled his eyes and poured down his cheeks. It was just him and an unconscious Greg in the room. He was safe to show raw emotion.

"I-I'm sorry, Greg. I didn't mean that." Nick's voice shook. He cursed himself for saying such a horrible thing. "I take it back. I don't hate you. You're my bro, how could I hate you? I could _never_ hate you."

Watching his pitiful young friend in this dormant state broke his heart over and over again. He was aware of the fact that this was the second time they had to bring Greg back to the land of the living. Because of this, he understood the extent of the injury and how much strength it took out of Greg to fight to live – every last ounce of energy.

"I know you're in there somewhere, Greg." Nick whispered while brushing off tears. "I don't know if you can hear me. But you gotta fight this thing. You gotta survive. I know you, Greg. I know you don't give up. We're all here supporting you. Don't let us down." He swallowed. "Don't let _me_ down."

Nick looked at Greg's boyish face, hoping for some sort of reaction. He pulled up a chair and sat by Greg's bedside. "I wish you would wake up and say you're ok. It's all I wanna know." There was a pause but no change from Greg. "Fine, have it your way. I'm gonna sit here and stare at you until you open those eyes." He spoke stubbornly.

He soon realized that Greg was not going to wake up no matter how hard he stared. "Come on Greg, just let me know you're gonna be alright." Nick begged.

Greg remained asleep. But his chest and stomach wasn't rising and falling like a healthy person in slumber. The stillness of his breathing pattern made it look like he was barely breathing at all. The heart monitor registering a heart rhythm was the only way to tell that Greg was indeed alive. After staring steadily at Greg's chest for a few minutes, a tiny spark of joy erupted when Nick finally detected Greg's breathing.

Nick reached out and took Greg's hand without hesitation. He was never the touchy-feely type. In fact, Nick was always known as the macho, masculine, men-don't-cry-and-certainly-don't-hold-hands type. Nick did not easily succumb to emotion. In the rare instances when he did, he often hid his vulnerability from his friends.

Nick and Greg were close. They were like brothers and most people knew it. In addition to being the punch line of Nick's awful jokes, Greg had to put up with being forced to do all the dirty work around the lab and crime scenes. After all, he was the rookie and just about everyone had seniority over him. As cruel as it may seem, he was always a good sport and never took things on a personal level. If it bothered him, he never complained. It didn't help being the youngest member on the team either. Because of that, he was teased and picked on a lot. But he knew that if he should ever get into any sort of trouble, the team would do anything for him. Like the others, Nick was also protective of Greg. As far as Nick was concerned, Greg was the property of Grissom's team and that made Greg exclusive. No one outside of the team was allowed to tease their pet.

Nick gave Greg's hand a squeeze. It didn't make a difference because Greg was unresponsive. Finally accepting Greg's inability to react, Nick gazed at the transparent IV tube dispensing important fluids into the crook of Greg's left arm. His gaze followed it up to the saline bag hanging above the bed. Not only did Greg look like he'd lost twenty pounds in the course of just two days, he looked like he gotten years younger.

"Who did this to you, Greg?" Nick whispered grievously. "Tell me who hurt you and I'll make him pay. I swear I'll make him pay for what he had done."

Nick looked at Greg again. He knew he wasn't going to get an answer. In a way, perhaps it was better that the drugs overpowered Greg and kept him unconscious. If Greg was awake, he would be in a tremendous amount of pain. And Nick hated to see Greg that way. Keeping Greg asleep was probably the best thing for him right now.

Nick stayed with Greg for a while longer. He found it difficult to tear himself away from his bedridden friend. With hope slipping, Nick felt helpless. There was nothing he or anyone could do for Greg. The only one who could save Greg now was Greg.

* * *

Grissom watched Catherine interact with Ingrid. It fascinated him how women so easily understood each other. Unlike men, they seemed to know exactly what to say in times like these. Perhaps it was the motherhood bond that made it easy for them to relate. Both Catherine and Ingrid were mothers and only a mother could comprehend the unbearable grief should their child be taken away by circumstance. Being a parent changed things. Your child becomes your whole world. This was something Grissom was not able to fully grasp, at least not yet.

Warrick arrived some minutes later. With his fists jammed in his front jeans pockets, he waited for Grissom to break the news. Hearing that Greg was stabilized was not satisfying enough for Warrick. But he had no choice but to settle. He exchanged a few sympathetic words with Greg's mother before joining Nick in Greg's room.

"Somehow, I knew this day was coming. I just didn't think it would be so soon." Ingrid said after a short pause. "Greg knew the risks. He told me about the risks. I – I didn't like it in the beginning. I would much rather have him work in the lab – where he would be safe. We had so many arguments." She held back sobs. "I didn't understand why he chose to be a CSI. I didn't get it. But then he made me see why this job was so important to him. He brought closure to people's lives. He wanted to make a difference."

Ingrid stopped to blow her nose in a tissue.

"It took me a while to see what a selfless and noble person my son had become. It's something I should be proud of. I honestly don't think I could be half the person he is." She continued. "He's spoken so highly of you." She looked at Grissom. "He puts you on a pedestal. I would even say that he's your biggest fan."

The comment surprised Grissom a bit and caught him off guard. He never saw himself as an idol before. It was flattering and rather amusing. A tiny satisfied smile crept upon his lips.

"He talks about Catherine, Warrick, and Nick all the time. You guys are his second family. I realize how much you all mean to him." Ingrid said.

"Greg means a lot to us too." Catherine said.

"I know it's a little overdue, but I want to apologize to you all of you for my behavior last year. I was out of line." Ingrid said. "It wasn't your fault that Greg got beat up. He got beat up because he tried to save someone's life. I understand it now."

"You had every right to be upset." Grissom interjected.

"I said a lot of things that I shouldn't have said." Ingrid dabbed her eyes with a used tissue. "And things that I didn't mean. I was not thinking with a clear head."

"Under the circumstances, your behavior was excusable and therefore forgotten." Grissom's voice was comforting.

Ingrid's hazel eyes met up with Grissom's hardened eyes. They exchanged a moment of understanding.

"This is not the ending that Greg should have. I always told him that he would do great things with his life. This can't be the end. It just can't." Ingrid cried. "Greg's all I have. Without him, my life is over."

"I've always known Greg to be a fighter. He will pull through." Grissom said. "The team is counting on him and if I know Greg at all, it would not be like him to disappoint us."

"If there's anything you need – anything at all – you let us know." Catherine said to Ingrid in a compassionate tone.

"Thank you, but I'm fine." Ingrid replied softly.

"Where are you staying? One of us can give you a ride when you're ready." Catherine offered while eyeing Ingrid's little rolling suitcase tucked away next to where she sat. Ingrid had come to the hospital directly from the airport, leaving no chance to drop off her luggage anywhere.

"I'm going to stay at Greg's apartment." Ingrid said. "Really, you don't have to go out of your way on account of me. I can get a cab."

"It's no trouble at all." Catherine said. "We're in this together." She took Ingrid's hand in an expression of comfort.

"I want to stay with him a while longer." Ingrid said.

"Ok." Catherine said.

"Actually, Grissom, there _is_ something you can do for me." Ingrid said suddenly. Her voice shook. "Please find the person who did this to my son. Please." She pleaded.

"We will find the person responsible." Grissom promised. "This case is top priority now."

The hours ticked away slowly as they stayed there as long as they were able. After a lengthy amount of time had passed, they realized it was pointless to stay glued to Greg's bedside, especially since there were no expected changes. He was in a deep sleep and probably would not wake anytime soon.

Although dawn was breaking outside, being awake for nearly 24 hours was starting to take its toll on their bodies. So eventually, everyone left the hospital. Grissom dropped Ingrid off at Greg's apartment. They went home to freshen up and put in a few hours of sleep before diving back into the case. A clear mind was important when putting the pieces together.

Grissom went home, showered, microwaved and ate some leftover Chinese food that was still edible in the fridge, and dozed off in his lazy chair. He soon woke up from an exhausted sleep. It surprised him when he looked at the alarm clock and saw that he'd only been asleep for a few hours. Unable to fall back asleep, he got dressed and left his house.

As he drove passed the streets of Las Vegas, the bustle of crowds on the boulevard was starting to come alive as the afternoon drew to a close. Las Vegas was all about the night life. The city wakes with excitement as soon as the sun goes down. With rush hour around the corner, taxi cabs and other vehicles were gradually increasing on the roads.

Grissom figured he could go to the lab and get a head start on the case. But he didn't want to face the people from the day shift. They would bombard him with questions about Greg that he didn't really feel like answering. He was in a forlorn mood and had very little appetite for attention. He preferred solitude.

Grissom found his way to the hospital again. He walked down the same halls and passed by the same nurses. Smells of disinfectants and medicine didn't bother him anymore. The world seemed to drift away little by little as he approached Greg's room in the intensive care. He turned the door knob and opened stepped into the room.

"Nick. What are you doing here?" Grissom said when he recognized the figure seated in a chair next to Greg's bed.

"I should ask you the same question." Nick said as he looked up.

"I couldn't really sleep." Grissom replied.

"Neither could I." Nick said.

Grissom approached the bed quietly and stared at Greg for a moment before speaking to Nick. "How long you been here?"

"I got here about thirty minutes ago." Nick answered. "I just thought I'd sit with him a while. You know, so he's not all alone."

A silent moment passed.

"I can't help but think that this is my fault." Nick said. "He wouldn't be here if I had just taken a bit more precaution. This shouldn't have happened. Not on my watch."

"We've been over this already. This has nothing to do with you. What happened to Greg wasn't your fault." Grissom said.

"In a way, I know that. But I feel horrible about this whole thing." Nick's voice faltered. "Maybe – maybe I'd feel better if it was me lying here instead of him. At least he would be ok." His eyes narrowed as he stared at Greg.

"That's not a fair thing to say." Grissom tilted his head. "I don't think that's something Greg would've wanted to hear. He would disagree with you."

"This makes me so angry." Nick seethed.

"We all want vengeance." Grissom said cautiously. "But we'll do it the right way."

Nick was capable of doing foolish things in the name of retribution. His temper got the better of him when it came to times like these. He thought more with his heart than his head and this often got him into trouble. He loved Greg like a brother and for this to happen to someone he considered so close to him, it was unforgivable. He thought nothing could top Greg getting jumped in that alley. But he was dead wrong.

"I need you to be in control of yourself." Grissom said.

"I am, Grissom. Look, I know what you're thinking. I'll admit that I was out of line when I punched Cole Tritt in the face. That asshole deserved more for what he did to Greg. In fact, I should've given him a taste of his own medicine. One punch wasn't nearly enough." Nick said and absentmindedly cracked his knuckles.

"Now, now Nick." Grissom warned.

"Every part of my body wants to kill the bastard responsible for putting Greg here, but I know better than to jeopardize the case that way." Nick said. "I wouldn't be that careless."

"I want to trust you." Grissom said with a little skepticism in his voice.

"And you _can._" Nick insisted firmly.

Just then, they heard a soft moan and their attention shifted to Greg. Greg's chest rose and fell heavily as he inhaled some difficult breaths. The tips of his fingers moved indicating that he was regaining consciousness. With eyes fixed on Greg, Grissom and Nick waited anxiously to see what would happen next.

The weak moan sounded like a cross between a pitiful whimper and an exhaling sigh. He moved his head slightly and his heavy eyelids lifted up slowly. The blurred images of Grissom and Nick soon fell into focus. He looked around and surveyed the situation.

There was a horrible pain in his chest that prohibited him from moving his right arm. He felt sick from all drugs pumping through his body. His stomach was in knots resulting from the lack of solid foods. He ignored the nausea and swallowed the nasty taste in his mouth before trying to speak. Forming words have never been so difficult. A loud grunt came from his throat, which didn't sound human at all. In fact, it sounded rather grotesque and harsh. The sound coming from his own mouth gave him a scare. Greg's fright-filled eyes grew to the size of silver dollars.

"Greg, it's ok." Nick said softly and waited for Greg to speak again. He wondered what Greg was going to say. Perhaps he was going to ask what happened, or what time was it, or where was he.

"Wuh-where are my clothes?" Greg finally asked innocently a weak voice when he noticed he was dressed in nothing but a hospital gown.

"Where are your clothes?!" Nick echoed. "Of all the things to ask, you want to know about your clothes?"

"Sorry, but your shirt is ruined. You won't be getting it back." Grissom answered patiently. "You gave us a scare."

"If you ever put us through that again, I'm gonna personally kick your ass." Nick threatened in a semi-humorous tone.

"What are you talking about?" Greg asked groggily.

"You went into cardiac arrest yesterday." Nick explained. "The doctors and nurses had to work the defibrillator on you."

"You mean I came back from the dead?" Greg droned. "Cool." He added mischievously.

"No, it's not cool." Nick retorted. "I don't ever want to hear you joke about stuff like that."

"I think your mother would be glad to know that you're awake. She's been very worried about you." Grissom said to Greg.

"My mom's here?" Greg sounded surprised.

"She flew in from New York yesterday." Nick said.

"She went back to your apartment. I told her to get some sleep." Grissom said.

"Is she really mad at me?" Greg asked.

"She came just in time to see you go into cardiac arrest. Do _you_ think she'd be mad? You broke her heart." Nick joked insensitively. He didn't mean anything bad by it. He had a funny way of showing how much he cared about Greg.

For a minute, it seemed like Greg believed what Nick said. His big saucer eyes became glassy like as if he was going to cry.

"Aw come on Greg. You know I'm just kidding with you." Nick said, suddenly wishing he could take back his earlier remark.

"Your mom's not mad at you. She's just very worried." Grissom said. "She's been up all night watching you."

"I'm sorry, Grissom." Greg cried tearfully. Crying made things worse because agonizing pain pricked with each breath.

"Everyone seems to be apologizing a lot these days. You don't have anything to be sorry for." Grissom said after dashing a quick look at Nick before continuing. "Greg, do you remember what happened?"

Greg grimaced as he allowed the pain to subside. He nodded. His chin quivered and his eyes erupted with tears.

"I know this is tough and I know you're not feeling well, but we need to go through this sooner or later. Sooner would be better." Grissom advised.

"I understand." Greg blubbered. Raw emotions and pain were the only things that filled his body.

"Just start from the beginning. Take as long as you need." Grissom said. "Any details you can remember."

Greg was already in terrible shape. It just seemed wrong to make him relive the torture all over again. Greg was neither ready for this mentally nor physically. Nick witnessed Greg getting caught up in emotion several times and questioned whether or not they should proceed. But Greg said he was fine. The tears streaming down his face didn't seem fine. The occasional spike on the heart monitor displaying an irregular heart rhythm certainly didn't look fine.

It angered Nick. His blood boiled and the fury raged within him. He wanted to put his fist into something.

Greg was so disoriented that he couldn't recall much about what happened just prior to getting shot. He admitted that his memory was fuzzy. Grissom pressed for details and encouraged Greg to delve into his senses. Anything he may have seen, any peculiar sounds he heard, or even any strange smells he noticed would be very helpful.

Grissom asked Greg what "scorpion" meant, since Greg mentioned it last time. Greg seemed rather stumped and swore he didn't remember saying it at all. Grissom and Nick exchanged surprised glances. When pushed on the subject, Greg insisted that he said no such thing.

Shortly thereafter, he complained about a headache. More drugs were released into his body and eventually his eyes began to lose focus. His words slurred and made very little sense to Grissom and Nick. At that point, it was clear that the interrogation was over.

They fixed Greg's blanket and allowed him to sleep.

End of Chapter 4

Author's Note: Thanks for reading!! Hope you get a chance to sign a review.


	5. Nightmares and Scorpion

Chapter 5: Nightmares and Scorpion

"Any luck on the prints we pulled from the crime scene?" Nick asked a rather frazzled-looking Mandy Webster as he tried to catch a glimpse over her shoulder to see how far she had gotten.

"Things will go quicker if you stop breathing down my neck." Mandy said in an exasperated tone. "I may be the fingerprint expert around here but I only have two hands. I've been working on these prints non-stop for the last three hours." Her petite frame spun around to face Nick. Tired eyes blinked behind dark rimmed glasses as she gave her colleague a cold stare.

"Sorry." Nick said sheepishly. "I don't mean to sound pushy but I could really use a lead right about now."

Her thick lips formed into a pout for a second then softened. "Forgiven, considering the circumstances." She said after a moment. "Greg's my friend too and I want to catch this guy just as much as you do."

"This whole thing with Greg getting shot – it's just been a really hard thing to digest." Nick admitted.

"I know." Mandy sighed with a touch of melancholy. "It's been the talk of the entire lab for the last couple days. I can't begin to imagine what Greg's going through."

"We're the good guys. We solve the crimes and put the criminals behind bars. We're supposed to be invincible."

"Yea, but awful things happen." Mandy shook her head.

"I'm so frustrated." Nick blurted.

A short pause followed. They each got lost in their own thoughts for a split second. Finally, Mandy broke the silence.

"I've gone through about half of the partials you pulled. I'm currently running some through AFIS but no hits yet." She nodded to the constantly flickering computer screen on the desk. Her dark wavy curls bobbed on her shoulders. "I'm still in the process of scanning the rest. Doing it as fast as I can."

"Ok. Just let me know if you get anything." Nick said feeling a little embarrassed now that he realized it was wrong to have pressed Mandy so severely for the answers. Mandy was reliable – Nick knew that.

"Of course I will. I have you on speed-dial." She said with a flirtatious grin.

It was hard not for Nick to return a smile. Others may see it as something more, but their relationship had always been strictly professional. Nick and Mandy was not an item, or at least it was something they never openly admit to. However, the talk around the water-cooler was cheap and always had a way of distorting the truth. This left Nick and Mandy no choice but to feed their gossip. They often played jokes on those people by giving them something to whisper about. Set aside the flirtation and teasing, Nick and Mandy were good friends.

"So really, no leads, huh?" Mandy frowned. She readjusted her glasses.

"Things are grim at the moment. All we know so far is a woman, Nadine Sharp, was murdered in her home. The suspect was most likely someone she knew very well. Or at least knew her house really well. No one could've known how to activate and deactivate the panic room in the basement like that." Nick said. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter. "The bullet that killed the vic matches the one taken out of Greg. But the weapon has not been recovered."

"We brought back a lot of stuff from the house but I doubt anything is admissible. The lab's been combing through it all day and nothing. All we have are the prints, a cigarette butt - which I sent to trace, and something Greg said." Nick continued.

"What'd he say?" Mandy's eyes grew.

"He said the word 'scorpion' to Grissom when he woke shortly after getting out of surgery." Nick answered. "But when asked about it later, he denied ever saying it."

"Perhaps it was the drugs talking. He was heavily sedated and could have just said the first thing that came to mind. Maybe 'scorpion' is an extraneous variable – unrelated to the case." Mandy said.

"Yea, it's possible. But I hate to rule out anything that might potentially be helpful." Nick replied.

"Was Greg able to give any descriptions of the suspect?"

"Caucasian, male, six-two, baseball cap, had on a large parka – therefore hiding his weight, but Greg guessed him to be about a hundred 'n fifty or sixty." Nick listed. "It was dark in the room so he wasn't able to get a good look at the guy's face, or at least that's what he says."

"You don't believe him?" Mandy sensed the skepticism in his voice.

"I think he knows more than he's saying." Nick shrugged. "But it's not up to me, is it?"

"You think he's hiding something?" Mandy gasped.

"Well, he's a scared kid. I can see the fear in his eyes. He's gone through a very traumatic experience. The images are still scattered in his brain. At this point, he can't separate the real ones from the non-real ones." Nick said coming from experience. "Everything seems so real, it's hard to differentiate at first."

"He needs time." Mandy said. "Unfortunately, time is what we don't have."

"Grissom did try to force the answers out of him but it didn't work. It just makes things worse. Greg cries an awful lot now – never seen him like that before. It really scares me to see him this way." Nick shook his head. "He's changed."

"This sort of thing is enough to change anyone." Mandy bit her glossy lip. "Wish there was something we can do to make things better for him."

"We can." Nick said surely. "We can do it by getting him some justice."

Mandy nodded in agreement. "So what's the next step, while waiting for these prints to process?"

"I'm going back to the crime scene with Catherine. Brass and Warrick obtained the blue prints to the sewer line that runs beneath the house." Nick said. "We're going to check it out and figure out how the suspect got away."

"Sewer?" She said with a disgusted tone. "Well, don't forget your HazMat suit then."

"Promise you'll call me if you get anything?" Nick said.

"Yep." Mandy winked playfully. "If you need me, you know where I'll be."

* * *

"Greg, wake up." Ingrid Hojem insisted as she stroked her son's hair lightly. Her voice was soft and maternal. "Open your eyes, baby. Everything's going to be alright." She gave him a gentle nudge.

Greg's moist eyes blinked open to see his mom looking at him. He had been crying in his sleep again. The tears on his face were still wet. "Mom?" His voice shook.

"I'm right here." Ingrid said, paying more attention to the smoothing of her son's hair than anything else.

Greg couldn't remember the content of the dream. He only remembered being cold and scared. But all that tension in his mind eased up when he saw his mother by his bedside. To see his mother was a real treat. Because of his chaotic work schedule, he only got to see her twice a year. He would fly to New York for Christmas and his mother would fly to Las Vegas for a week in May in lieu of Mother's Day.

"You had a bad dream again, sweetheart." Ingrid said.

She said_ "again"_. Greg wondered exactly just how many of these awful dreams he'd been having and just how many his mother had witnessed. It was a pretty scary thing to wake up in tears to a dream he couldn't even remember.

His body trembled. He didn't know whether it was caused by the drugs or from his recent nightmare. There was no use in trying to hide behind a tough-guy façade. No one was going to believe it anyway, so he gave up. The truth was that he felt miserable. His whole body seemed to hurt. Even breathing made him uncomfortable.

"Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?" Ingrid asked.

"I can't." Greg replied weakly. The very thought of food make him nauseous. He winced.

"Ok." Ingrid accepted his answer. "Maybe, later then." On a usual day, she wouldn't let him off so easy. She would force-feed him until he could eat no more. Typical mothers often had a way with worrying about their grown children not eating enough and over feed them when given the opportunity.

Greg was glad his mother didn't challenge him on that. He really wasn't up for the argument either. Ingrid wiped Greg's wet cheeks with her fingers. Greg felt like he should justify himself, but he couldn't think of anything to say. He just stared pitifully at his mother's worried face and allowed her to wipe the old tears off his cheeks.

Greg tried to sit up and realized all too late that he shouldn't have been done that. The pain was unbearable and enough to put more tears in his eyes. He grunted miserably and cowardly leaned back onto the bed.

"Where do you think you're going?" Ingrid said, half in jest. "You have to stay still or you're going to tear the stitches."

Suddenly, Greg realized something was terribly wrong. He couldn't move his right arm as freely as he would've liked to. In fact, it felt quite heavy by his side when he made an effort to lift that particular arm. Excruciating pain shot up his shoulder and exploded throughout the left side of his chest. It seemed like even the slightest wiggling of his fingers gave him pain.

"My arm!!" Greg moaned uncomfortably. "I can't move my arm." He cried in panic. Absolute terror filled his eyes as he tried to grasp what was happening to his body.

"Honey, calm down." Ingrid coaxed gently. "It's ok. Relax."

"Mom? What's wrong with my arm? Why can't I move my arm?" Greg interjected. His voice was tensed and agitated.

"Baby, listen to me." Ingrid cupped her son's cheeks in the palm of her hands to get his attention.

"What's happened? Wuh-what happened to my arm?" Greg said. His eyes shook with tears. He sensed something was amiss.

Horrible thoughts ran through his mind as he jumped to conclusions. Perhaps somehow the gunshot hit a nerve in his body and this was the best the doctors could do to save what was left of him. Perhaps something went wrong during the surgery and he would be maimed for the rest of his life. Without the use of his limbs, how would he do his job? How would he function? How would he live? These thoughts of being permanently disabled frightened him.

Ingrid explained to Greg the extent of his injury. The bullet bounced off the third rib bone from the top, hence slowing the bullet down from doing major damage. However, the bullet managed to hit his right lung – causing the lung to collapse almost immediately. The surgeons were able to successfully extract the bullet and stop the excessive bleeding. They had to drain the air from the pleural space so that lung could re-expand. He had lost a lot of blood in the process and had to get a blood transfusion.

"As for your arm, the doctors say it's only temporary. The injury to the right side of your body rendered your arm immobile." Ingrid said. "Don't worry, dear. The motor skills in your right arm will come back to you eventually. It's just that in the meantime you're going to have difficulty using that arm. We'll put your arm in a sling later on, so it'll be less strenuous on your shoulder."

"Mom." Greg sobbed pitifully. Under the circumstances, Greg's great barrier of strength had been reduced to a pile of ashes. He felt sorry for himself. His big glossy eyes held back an ocean of tears.

"Oh honey. Please don't cry anymore." Ingrid cooed. "I know you're in a lot of pain but things will get better. I promise." She tried to sound convincing.

"How long do I have to be like this?" Greg asked. His voice faltered.

"I don't know, Greg."

"I wanna go home." Greg begged irrationally with a whimpering sob.

"That's not up to us to decide. The doctors think you need to be here." Ingrid said patiently. It was completely heart-wrenching to see her son so vulnerable and helpless.

It felt like the end of the world – or at least, the end of _his_ world. He was worried about losing the use of his arm. He was right-handed, which he relied mostly on for everyday functions. More importantly, he needed both hands to do his job. His job – being a part of the lab – being on Grissom's team was his life. The thought of being potentially robbed of his future scared him. A dull pain from the base of his neck throbbed slightly. He moaned and closed his eyes for a second.

"Greg? Are you ok?" Ingrid said anxiously. Greg looked sick.

"My head hurts." Greg replied when he opened his eyes again.

"Oh, it's from the concussion." Ingrid explained. Greg gave her a weak but perplexed look. "Yes, you have a concussion. You hit your head pretty hard."

Greg guessed he got the concussion from being thrown against the thick frosted glass by the force of the bullet entering his body. The details were starting to come back to him. He seemed to remember a little more each second of what happened to him that awful night. It frightened him.

"The doctors say you're very lucky. The MRI's don't show any damage to your brain."

Greg needed a nice long hug from his mother but was way too proud to ask for anything of the sort. His eyes seemed to have permanent moisture. He was close to bursting into tears.

"Now, now. You mustn't worry about anything because you're going to be ok. I'm going to take very good care of you." Ingrid insisted maternally. "Don't be scared, ok?"

"I'm not scared." Greg said boldly. _No, he wasn't scared – he was mortified._

"I think you are, baby. I can feel it." She smiled. "You can't fool your own mother."

Only the sound of Greg's occasional ragged breathing filled the room for a while. Ingrid watched Greg carefully and wondered what was going on in her son's mind. Greg allowed a stray tear or two to fall from his eyes.

A gold-headed, stubby nurse came in to check on him. She asked him a slew of questions. She changed his bandages, took his blood pressure, and fulfilled her duties. Once she was done, she smiled in a grandmotherly fashion and told Greg she would be back in a few hours with his medication and that if he needed anything to just press the red call button. She exchanged a few words with Greg's mother before leaving the room.

Ingrid continued to smooth Greg's hair gently. It seemed like that was the only part of his body that didn't hurt.

"You never told me how protective your friends were of you." Ingrid said. She didn't expect a reply from her son and she was fine with that. "They all seem to take this whole thing pretty hard. I don't blame them. You had us really worried there. Almost lost you."

Ingrid took a break from smoothing Greg's hair. She took his hand and kissed his fingers.

"I never thought I'd say this, but I actually feel sorry for the guy who did this to you." Ingrid began. "Your friends have been so riled up about catching him that I'm afraid to know what they would do to him once they have him. I don't think I want to be there when that happens."

Greg remained quiet. He was afraid that if he tried to speak, he would end up in tears.

"But then it's starting to be a tough case to crack because they don't have much of a lead to follow at this point." Ingrid sighed. She looked at Greg. "If you remembered anything at all, you wouldn't keep it to yourself, right?"

Greg shook his head. He tried to be convincing.

"That's good." Ingrid said, sounding like she actually believed him. "Do you remember the day you woke right after your surgery? Detective Brass and Grissom were there."

Greg swallowed and nodded.

"They told me you said something peculiar." Ingrid began. "You said the word Scorpion. Then the next time you woke – after recovering from the cardiac arrest – you said you don't recall saying it at all. This sudden switch has got everyone wondering. Is there something you're not saying?"

"You think I'm lying?" Greg said weakly.

"Well, are you?" She asked curtly.

He was silent, neither admitting nor denying anything.

"What are you so afraid of?" Ingrid said. "Are you afraid that man will come after you?"

It wasn't because Greg didn't want to answer. It was because he wasn't sure of the answer. Somewhere in his gut, he knew what he said that day. He just wasn't clear on _why_ he said it. But so much fear surrounded the incident that he found it difficult to put his trust into anyone – not even himself.

"Honey, if there is something that you know, you shouldn't keep it to yourself. Even if you think it's insignificant. We want to help you. I wish you would believe that."

"Things are complicated." Greg sounded lost. "I – I feel so much."

"That man won't hurt you again. You don't have to be afraid." Ingrid offered.

"Did Grissom put you up to this?" Greg suddenly said. "He couldn't get anything out of me the first time, so he figured it'd be different if you tried. Did he think that I would tell you and not him? Does he think I'm lying too?" His voice cracked.

"It's not like that. You got it all wrong." Ingrid said.

"I don't know why I said Scorpion, ok? It sorta came out. I've been trying so hard to remember why I said it. It freaks me out that my mind is drawing a complete blank each time. Everything in my mind is sketchy right now. I don't know what's real anymore." He rambled miserably. Tears were welling up in his eyes again.

"Ok." Ingrid soothed, settling for his answer. "Things will come back to you. You've been traumatized and your mind is still in shock."

"I'm supposed to think like a CSI at all times. I'm supposed to remember things. I don't know why I can't seem to remember this one thing." Greg blubbered.

"Some things are beyond your control." Ingrid said.

"I'm trying really hard to remember why I said what I said. Honest." Greg said. "I just need time to sort things out."

Greg wanted to give his mother some sort of reassurance that he was telling the truth. He knew the answer to this puzzle was hidden somewhere deep in the folds of his brain. The word "scorpion" was imprinted there for a reason. He must've seen _something_. But what made his brain block it out? More importantly, _why_ did his brain block it out? Did this have something to do with the results of his injuries, or something worse? The possibilities scared him.

"Ok, that's fine." Ingrid lulled. She rubbed the back of Greg's hand softly with her thumb.

With glazed eyes, Greg gave a small, depressed sigh. "I'm exhausted." And he definitely looked the part.

"You should be. You're recovering from a terrible gunshot wound." Ingrid reminded. "It's important that you remember, but more important that you heal."

"Is Grissom disappointed in me?" Greg asked lethargically. For some reason, he was worried that he let Grissom down.

"Of course not, why would you say that? He comes by frequently to check on how you're doing. He's genuinely concerned for you." Ingrid said. "He just wants to solve this case – they all do."

"I'm sorry, mom." Greg blurted. The build-up of tears that formed behind his eyes finally made their way out. He couldn't stop the waterworks if he tried.

"Shhhh…don't say that." Ingrid hushed. "There will be no more crying here. I think we've cried enough to last us a lifetime."

"I can't help it." He blubbered. "I can't help anything anymore."

"Just try to relax." Ingrid said. "And know that you're safe. No one will hurt you."

"What's gonna happen to me, mom?" Greg sobbed, fearing the worst.

"You're going to get better. Take one day at a time." Ingrid advised. "You're never alone. You have me and your friends. We'll be here to help you through this. Nobody will abandon you. I promise." She kissed the knuckle of Greg's hand.

There was a small modest knock on the door as it swung open slowly.

"Uh, I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Not at all. Grissom, how good of you to drop by. Come in." Ingrid greeted when she saw the figure step into the room.

Grissom wore a sporty black blazer over a blue and white plaid shirt with black slacks. He finished the outfit with sensible shoes.

"I thought I'd come see Greg before my shift started." Grissom said and approached the bed.

The harder Greg tried to quit crying, the more tears came out of his eyes. No matter how easily the tears were triggered, crying in front of Grissom should only be a last resort. Greg's toughness and strength disappeared along with the rest of his ability to handle the situation. He didn't want Grissom to see him bawl his eyes out. But his will power to control even the smallest of tears was close to impossible. It was a sum of all emotions going through his mind – pity, fear, anger, pain, and suffering. He tried his best to compose himself.

Meanwhile, Ingrid gave Grissom a nervous glance hinting at her son's current vulnerable state. Grissom received it and went accordingly.

"Looks like you're doing better today." Grissom said cheerfully, ignoring the tears that kept squeezing themselves out of the corner of Greg's pasty eyes. "At least, you're awake this time. Last time I came, the drugs completely knocked you out."

Greg found Grissom's gaze rather uncomfortable. He tried to avoid eye contact so that Grissom didn't have to see the tears in his eyes. But it was useless. At this point, it was pretty obvious that Greg was crying.

"I'm trying to be strong. I really am, but I can't stop crying." Greg admitted with a quivering chin.

"You _are_ strong, Greg. It took great strength to survive what you went through. It would have been easy to just give up, but you didn't." Grissom said wisely.

"I just didn't want you to think I was a wimp." Greg muttered. Two small tears slid down the corner of his eyes.

"I would never have thought of you that way. You are as brave as they come." Grissom said.

Greg stared at a fold in his blanket. "How's the case going?" He finally asked.

"It's inching its way along, I guess. We have a few leads that we're working on, but no lucky breaks yet." Grissom said.

"I'm sorry I don't have anything meaningful to contribute." Greg said, feeling extremely worthless.

"You did what you could."

"I feel awful about the whole scorpion thing."

"It would be great if you remembered. But, I understand if it's not coming to you right away." Grissom said.

"It's probably important – maybe even vital to the case and I can't cough it up." Greg's quivering voice made him appear fragile.

"Don't be so hard on yourself." Grissom said. "Being hard on my team would be _my_ job." He attempted at a little humor and gave Ingrid a smile. "Let's not talk about work for now and just concentrate on you getting better. There will be plenty of time to think about work later. And I'm sure if you remember anything, you'll let me know."

A brief moment of silence followed.

"How about tomorrow I bring you a jumbo cheese-n-beef guacamole burrito from the Chipotle Grill? I remember you liked those." Grissom changed the subject.

For the first time in Greg's life, the very thought of food (even his favorite snack) made his stomach turn. He had no appetite for it. He was barely confident that he could hold anything down even if he tried.

It was unusually nice of Grissom to extend such an offer. Grissom had been highly misunderstood and perhaps regarded by some people as a stuffy, apathetic brainy fellow who lived in his own world. They failed to see that Grissom was just as human as anyone. He had his outlets.

"This is gonna sound strange, but can I take a rain check? I'm just not that ambitious yet." Greg said with a small grimace.

"I don't think he's ready for food yet." Ingrid said, darting an affectionate but sympathetic glance at Greg. "He's got a weak stomach."

"Oh, ok." Grissom said.

"I'll be on the IV for a while. I get nauseous when I think about food." Greg muttered wearily. "But thanks though."

Greg appeared more exhausted now than he was a few minutes ago. It was physically taxing to stay awake and receive company. But at least he'd stop crying. Perhaps he was just too tired to have the energy to cry anymore.

"Tired?" Ingrid asked Greg.

"Mmm." Greg replied affirmatively.

"Want to sleep?" Ingrid inquired.

"No, not really." Greg murmured.

"You should get as much sleep as possible." Grissom advised.

"I've been sleeping way too much already." Greg droned. "I don't even know what time of day it is anymore."

"Sleep is very important to you right now. It's part of the healing process. Your body needs rest." Grissom said. "Don't fight it."

"The nurse will be back to give him his medication." Ingrid said.

"Pain killers are awesome. They just put me under and I don't feel a thing." Greg drawled. "But the bad side is that my stomach has to pay the price for it."

Both Grissom and Ingrid seemed to share the same sympathetic look on their faces when Greg made this comment. It wasn't his intention to strike any more unnecessary pity in them. He was merely stating the fact. But the pity didn't stop there.

Without warning, Greg suddenly wheezed loudly when he drew in a deep breath. The sound he made seemed to surprise him.

"What was that?!" Grissom said jokingly.

Greg had to cough but he tried not to cough too hard because doing so brought on a lot of pain.

"Gosh, that was a loud one." Greg remarked once some color returned to his cheeks.

"It sure was." Grissom said. Ingrid just looked worriedly at her son.

"Sorry. Bad lung." Greg said sheepishly.

"No need to apologize for everything, Greg." Grissom cut him off. "You're allowed to be flawed sometimes, you know. Showing weakness is not a crime."

"That's what I've been trying to tell him for the last several years." Ingrid said. "But I think it's my fault. I taught him to be always strong in spirit. Who knew he would take that so seriously. He never took anything else I said seriously."

"Oh mom." Greg said in an exasperated tone.

"You raised him up just fine." Grissom said to Ingrid.

"Seems like I can only stay awake for two hours at a time." Greg blinked tiredly. His body was yearning for sleep just when things were starting to get really interesting.

"Go to sleep Greg." Grissom ordered.

Greg let out a big "hmmm" and surrendered into fatigue. The achy muscles loosened and he allowed his shoulders to mold themselves into the mattress. He sunk the back of his head deeper into the spongy pillow. A soft weary sigh passed his lips. He closed his eyes. His breaths were slow.

Grissom and Ingrid watched Greg struggle occasionally for a breath. In such instances, he breathed in with his mouth. Greg winced when he sucked in a little too much air. About thirty seconds passed in complete silence.

"Are you guys just gonna sit there and stare at me while I sleep." Greg said with closed eyes. He knew they were watching him. This sudden remark surprised Grissom and Ingrid.

"Why are you still awake?" Ingrid said. "I thought you said you were tired."

"It still takes time to drift into sleep you know." Greg muttered. "Average person takes 5 to 15 minutes to fall asleep."

"Stop talking, Greg and go to sleep." Grissom demanded.

Greg babbled something incoherently then mumbled, "Griss, tell the guys I said hi, ok?"

"I will. Now, no more talking." Grissom hushed.

Surprisingly enough, Greg had already fallen asleep.

End of Chapter 5

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Please sign a review if you get a chance.


	6. Mystery Gradually Unfolds

Chapter 6: Mystery Gradually Unfolds

Grissom walked into the DNA lab and found a pony-tailed Wendy Simms seated on a stool by the far end of the room scratching away at the keyboard as she entered information into the computer database. There were test tubes, solutions, pipettes, tweezers, swabs, old latex gloves, and other paraphernalia scattered across the lab counter. Wendy had been busy extracting DNA from the cigarette butt that Nick found at the crime scene.

A small beep came from the computer and Wendy looked up at the monitor. She squinted at the brightness of the flickering screen. The mishmash of multi-colors and symbols spoke to her. She understood the language and her heart started to pound a little harder against her chest as she absorbed the information. A soft buzzing noise from the inkjet printer followed as a single sheet of paper containing a printout of the information slid lazily out of the machine.

"Please tell me you have some good news?" Grissom said suddenly. His voice was calm but nonetheless, it gave Wendy a start.

"Grissom!" Wendy jumped. She blushed deeply for a second. She was so engulfed in her work that she failed to realize that Grissom was standing in the room.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." Grissom apologized.

"You have a way of sneaking up on a person." Wendy breathed.

"I have quiet shoes." Grissom smiled under his neatly trimmed salt and pepper beard.

"I'll say." Wendy grinned awkwardly. "But you came just in time. I have some news for you. "I ran the DNA taken from the end of the cigarette butt through CODIS and we have a match."

Wendy clicked on a few keys on the keyboard. A photo and a bio-stat popped onto the screen of a scruffy looking man with shoulder-length grimy blond hair and an unkempt stubby beard. His sunken cheeks, hollow eyes, and ambivalent expression made him appear coldhearted. He looked like a drunken beachcomber.

"Max Zudor, also known as Mad Max, 42, lives on East Desert Road. Looks like he has a record too. He's been arrested for possession and distribution of heroin. He did time in the State Prison." Wendy read off the screen in a steady voice. She looked up anxiously at Grissom. Her dark bangs almost hid her eyes. "Could this be the bastard that shot Greg?" She added bitterly.

"There's an address. We'll find out." Grissom said while observing the last known residence of the suspect. "I'll call Brass and have him picked up."

Grissom was about to thank Wendy and leave when she interjected.

"I have one more bit of news." Wendy began as she took the piece of paper from the printer and glanced at the printout in her hands. "The DNA came back and our cigarette smoking man here has alleles in common with our dead victim Nadine Sharp."

"They're related." Grissom said it more in the form of a statement than a stunning revelation.

"Yes, possible half-siblings or a distant relative - perhaps a cousin." Wendy said.

"Hmm, very interesting." Grissom rubbed his beard for a second. "We'll do a background check on this guy." He took the printout from Wendy. "Is there anything else?"

"That's it for now." Wendy said grimly. She wished she had more to contribute but at the moment, it was all the information she had to put on the table.

"Thanks." Grissom said as he headed out the door. Just as he was about to walk through the doorway, he turned around like as if he remembered something important. "Good job, Wendy. This is a step forward."

Wendy smiled as Grissom made his exit. She watched him tread down the hall though the rows of glass windows that separated the lab and the hallway. Wendy never took Grissom's sometimes seemingly anti-social behavior to heart. It had nothing to do with being rude. It was just part of Grissom's character. Everyone knew that. Like many of the other team members, Wendy often looked up to Grissom. Gaining his approval was very important. Things were always more gratifying when he acknowledged her work.

She watched Grissom fish his cell phone out of his breast pocket to call Brass about the latest findings and to tell him that they may finally have a potential suspect. He didn't seem to notice Wendy eyeing him.

* * *

Catherine, Nick, and Warrick were sloshing along in mucky sewer water when they came across a division in the channel. An eerie symphony of dripping water, buzzing generators, and gushing air echoed all around. They weren't exactly crawling through narrow pipes filled with fecal matter, but the mixture of acrid smells was enough to make them yearn each for fresh air. The tunnel was tall and wide enough for them to stand upright. They beamed their flashlights light around the fork in the road. Both directions seemed equally skeptical.

"Ok, now what?" Catherine said. Her exasperated voice echoed in the tunnel.

"The map says the one on the left leads to a combined sewer overflow storage facility." Warrick said while pointing to a section on a copy of the blueprints he had in his hand. A shaft of light from Catherine's flashlight shined on the paper.

"In other words, a dead end." Nick said. "Where does this other way lead to?" He added pointing his flashlight into the never-ending labyrinth of damp and cruddy darkness that lay ahead.

"Hmm, it goes through a series of tunnels. It mostly transports drain water and sewage. But there's an exit through a manhole over here." Warrick dragged his finger across an area on the map.

"Then that's were we're headed." Nick said. He filed forward without a moment of hesitation.

"I don't know how I'll ever get this wet sock smell out of my hair." Catherine said as she followed. "The sewer's really disgusting."

"What Catherine? I think you look very cute in that jumpsuit." Warrick mocked.

"Thanks, Warrick. You always know just what to say to a girl." Catherine replied sarcastically.

As they drudged deeper into the clammy rat-infested tunnels, the light source became more and more scarce. They relied on their flashlights and the small fluorescent back lights that were affixed onto the mildew-crusted walls. Meanwhile, the water level had risen to the ankle of their industrial rubber boots.

Nick was a good distance ahead of Catherine and Warrick. Somehow, the smell of rust and dirty water didn't bother him as much as it did Catherine. Besides, this wasn't his first time fishing for evidence in the sewers of Las Vegas. One would be surprised at the number of dead bodies that ended up in the sewers. Nick didn't mind handling the dirty jobs.

He remembered how he often preferred to take Greg with him on such cases. It wasn't because Greg was easy to manipulate. They made a good team and Nick enjoyed working with Greg. Being a rookie, it was true that Greg had to follow his superiors' orders and do the tasks that no one wanted (or was willing) to do. Greg called it initiation. Nick called it seniority.

Nick had to admit that sometimes, he crossed the line with Greg in forcing him to do the less desirable duties while he watched and gloated. Knowing what he knew now, he wished he could take back all those times. Greg was a good kid and hardly ever complained about any job – however big or small. Nick was surprised at how well Greg tolerated the abuse. It proved that Greg was eager to become a successful CSI on all levels. He treated all aspects of his job as a learning experience. Of course, he made his share of mistakes, but he didn't let it stop him from reaching upward. Nick found this admirable. He made a mental note for himself to remember to let Greg know it the next time he went to see him at the hospital.

The case they were working at present time was special because it was something that hit close to home. Nick felt an attachment – almost an obsession with closing this case. Messing with Greg, of all people, was unforgivable. He needed to bring closure not only for Greg, but also for himself.

"Hey, fellas!" Nick beckoned. "I think I found something." He crouched down and inspected an area where badly corroded metal protruded out of the tunnel wall. He waited for Catherine and Warrick to catch up with him before going further.

A piece of soggy dark blue fabric seemed to have gotten caught between the jagged edges of the metal. Nick took a pair of tweezers from his pocket and removed the frayed piece of fabric from the rusty pipe.

"A souvenir the shooter left behind, perhaps?" Warrick said as Nick brought the tweezers with the soiled scrap to the light.

"Could be from a coat or shirt." Catherine inspected. "It could also have traces of blood if the suspect cut himself on that sharp edge there." She darted her eyes towards the metal.

"It's very possible. I'll bag and tag, and send it to the lab." Nick said as he tucked it carefully into an envelope.

A small glimmer of hope glowed in their hearts and made wandering around in the sewers a little less discouraging. They continued to follow the grimy path in the tunnel.

"We have reached a dead end." Warrick said as he pointed his flashlight at the wall. "And the only way to go is up." He added when he noticed the metal ladder leading up towards a manhole cover.

"Ok." Nick said casually while tucking his flashlight onto his belt. "Careful, it's slippery!" He warned as he proceeded to climb up the metal ladder.

Warrick and Catherine took caution and followed behind Nick. When they finally climbed their way to the top, Nick pushed the manhole cover out with all his might. He slowly slid the heavy iron cover over off to the side, hoping that the manhole didn't open up to on-coming traffic.

Nick took a careful peek before sticking his whole head out the top of the manhole. Much to his surprise, the manhole exited out onto a lonely alley. A disagreeable smell of rotted garbage and urine wafted in the warm air. The faint sound of traffic zooming on the expressway could be heard in the distance. Nick recognized the buildings that made up the alley. He scrambled out of the manhole and gave Warrick and Catherine a hand.

"I never thought I'd be so glad to see the light of day." Catherine sighed in relief when she climbed out of the manhole. "Where are we?"

"It's the alley behind Squeeze." Nick answered knowledgeably. He looked at the puzzled faces of his colleagues. "Promiscuous strip joint with _extra_ _special services_ going on in the back. Black velvet curtains, candle lit, spooky, two dead strippers in the bathtub with all the blood mysteriously drained out of their bodies. Does that ring a bell?" He said.

"Ahh, the faux vampire case." Warrick recalled. "Now, I remember. That was many years ago. But ok, it's all clear now. One of the weirdest cases we've ever had."

"Looks like Squeeze has been squished out. The whole building's been boarded up." Catherine observed. "Good ridden." She added under her breath.

"Ok, so let's backtrack. The suspect came out of the manhole. What's the first thing he would do?" Nick said.

"Well, this part of town is nothing but old warehouses and storage facilities. I doubt he would get away on foot." Warrick said while scanning the area. "I'm guessing he may have gotten into a vehicle and fled the scene."

"So, we're looking for tire tracks." Catherine was already on it. She started going down the far end of the street.

"Keep an eye out for the murder weapon too. He may have discarded it somewhere around the area. We're looking for a Beretta." Nick reminded as they began their search for clues.

"Got something!" Warrick called after about fifteen minutes of canvassing the alley. In a crouched position, he inspected the findings. "I got a single track about six inches wide. From the looks of the skid mark, he accelerated that way." He pointed towards the north end of the alley.

"Judging by the width of the treads and the fact that there's only one tread, I guess it's safe to say that we're talking about a motorcycle here." Nick said as he knelt down to get a better look of the skid mark. "We're going to have to get our equipment and document this."

"I'll get the car." Warrick volunteered as he got up.

"Aside from the tread, there seems to be no other trace of the guy." Catherine said in an almost discouraged tone.

"When there's a will, there's a way. The guy didn't just drop out of the sky and disappeared into thin air. He had to have gone somewhere and we will find him." Nick said adamantly.

* * *

Grissom made his way routinely down the long corridors that led to Greg's room in a slightly more cheerful mood. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to give the team some sense of direction. Feeling a little pleased with how things were going, he couldn't wait to see Greg. Greg did admit candidly that the highlight of the day was Grissom's visit.

Grissom's good mood was suddenly dampened when he learned that Greg was not well. Upon entering the room, he found Greg's mother gently applying a cold cloth onto her son's forehead. Greg's eyes were closed and he appeared to be in an uncomfortable slumber.

"Grissom." Ingrid acknowledged wearily when she saw the visitor approach. Her thick wavy hair was disheveled and a few strands had slipped out of her pony tail. She looked like she barely had any sleep. "He's feverish."

"How long has he been like this?" Grissom asked with concern.

"Since late last night." Ingrid said. "The doctor wouldn't give him anything for the fever because it would conflict with the other drugs that he's already taking. He says that it's nothing to be overly worried about and that the best thing is to keep Greg as comfortable as possible and wait for the fever to go down on its own." Her shaky voice made her seem fragile.

Although it showed that Ingrid's nerves were completely frayed, Grissom thought there was something very remarkably ravishing about her. She still managed to pull off looking strikingly beautiful. Grissom suddenly felt guilty being so selfish at a time like this.

"I've been feeding him crushed ice and applying cold compresses on his forehead the whole night through. I just can't sit here and watch him burn up. I have to do something. I don't even know if this is making a difference. I don't know how much longer I can do this." She whimpered, nearly in tears. "Ever since Greg was little, he's always been slow to recover on everything – chicken pox, bronchitis, even the common cold. It always took him slightly longer to get better. The pediatricians and doctors used to tell me that he was a weak boy. It really scares me when he gets fever."

"Well, it's been know that fever is a self-limiting condition." Grissom said after a moment's thought. "The body has a way of preventing temperature from getting over 106 degrees. Fever is the body's organic way of fighting infection. A rise in body temperature just means that the immune system is increasing the effort to fight infection. It's not necessarily a bad thing." He rubbed his bearded chin.

Being a CSI exposed Grissom to a wide range of knowledge and this often came in handy. Hearing this explanation seemed to calm her a bit.

"He's supposed to be getting better not worst. He was doing so well yesterday." Ingrid said. "He seems to be regressing now." There was desperation and exhaustion in her voice but her attention never left Greg.

"When was the last time you had something to eat?" Grissom asked.

"I don't know." Ingrid was about to dip the cloth into the tub of water.

"Here, give me the towel and I'll take care of Greg for a while. You go to the cafeteria and get something to eat." Grissom rolled up his sleeve and took the towel from Ingrid's hand.

She couldn't have refused if she tried. Grissom often had an authoritative way about him. Besides, she really needed a break. Ingrid thanked Grissom and left the room quietly.

Grissom sat down and soaked the cloth in the tub of cool water. He turned to Greg and in an instant, noticed how incredibly pale the young CSI's face had become. A film of perspiration covered his ashy face and neck creating a slick glaze. The tips of his dark brown hair that caressed his face were moist resulting from sweat and the damp cloth. Greg appeared to drown in his loose fitting hospital gown. The bandaged wound was carefully hidden out of sight. He had a blanket covering him about mid-waist down. Too weak to kick off the blanket, he just allowed it to drape over his sweltering body.

Greg stirred and whimpered softly in his feverish sleep. He seemed to be begging for relief.

"Greg, you're going to come out of this. I know you will. I don't believe you're weak. Here's your chance to prove them wrong." Grissom said as he wrung the cloth off and placed it over Greg's brow.

In reaction to the coolness of the water, Greg let out a short whispered sigh expressing the relief that he felt.

"You liked that, huh?" Grissom said rhetorically. He needed to keep talking so he wouldn't succumb to tears. Greg meant so much to the team – and especially to him.

Greg's breathing was the only sound that filled the room. The fever increased his heart rate and made him thirst for air. Breathing, however, posed to be somewhat of an arduous task for Greg given the extent of his injuries. And listening to Greg's breathing rendered Grissom full of grief and pity.

Grissom continued to reapply the cold cloth to Greg's hot forehead.

"Mom." Greg moaned ambiguously in his sleep. He swallowed the dryness in his throat. His lips parted and he drew in a few panting breaths before closing his jaw again.

It was tragic to see him suffering so much. He was not the smart-ass genius Greg who always cracked goofy jokes in the lab or was he the brainy yet sarcastic Greg who constantly tried to prove him worthy in the field. Instead, he was now just a regular boy, who had been terribly injured. As difficult as it was, Grissom felt it was time to put his guard down and not be afraid to show that he really cared.

Greg mumbled incoherently in his delirium. Stirring occasionally, he appeared to be awfully uncomfortable. He was warm to the touch when Grissom felt the boy's arm. Grissom shook his head in dismay and gently dabbed the cold cloth onto Greg's cheeks and neck in attempt cool down the fever.

"Mom?" Greg's parched lips breathed in a whisper.

His eyes blinked open weakly when he didn't get a reply from who he assumed was his mother taking care of him. He nearly forgot his current disposition when, instead of his mother, he saw Grissom doing the task of applying the cool cloth to his brow. Somehow, that just didn't look right. He closed his eyes and reopened them hoping to clear away whatever weird foggy imaginary sight he thought he had seen. But to no avail, Grissom was still there wiping his hot forehead with a wet cloth. Being sick with fever was one thing, but was he hallucinating now too?

"Griss?" Greg tested to see if he was truly hallucinating or stuck in some odd dream.

"Yes, Greg?" Grissom answered. He gave the cloth a good wringing before putting it over Greg's forehead again.

"Is this a dream?" Greg asked. "Am I dreaming?" The poor kid looked terribly confused.

"No, you're awake." Grissom replied frankly. "Your mother's gone to get something to eat. She's been caring for you all night and day. I told her I would take over for a while."

It was an unusual surprise to wake up to Grissom actually doing something that was his mother's job. He never expected Grissom, of all people, to nurse him in this manner. There was something very oddly "human" and "reachable" about Grissom's behavior. Greg never saw this side of Grissom before. No boss would dare cross the line between professional and personal – at least no boss that he ever knew. Somehow, Grissom was different. He actually gave a damn about him and went all out to help in any way he could - in more occasions than one. Greg didn't know what to say. In fact, he suddenly felt too sick and painful to ponder it any further.

Grissom continually wet, wring, and applied the cool cloth to Greg's face and neck. The cold water felt extremely good against his warm, clammy skin.

"Do you want some ice?" Grissom offered as he removed the now lukewarm cloth from Greg's forehead and placed it back into the basin. He reached for the plastic cup filled with crushed ice from the side table. "It'll make your throat feel better." He added as he stirred and chopped the ice with a spoon.

Grissom was right. Greg seemed to find it truly amazing that someone could be right all the time. He couldn't remember a time when Grissom was wrong.

"Yes?" Grissom asked.

Greg made a gruff affirmative sound indicating that he wished to have some ice. Grissom pushed a button next to the bed to bring the upper section of the bed to a slight upright position. Greg grunted painfully at the move.

"Sorry." Grissom cringed. "We can't have you eating the ice while reclining. You'll choke on it." Greg gave a short nod showing his forgiveness.

Grissom began to spoon-feed Greg the slushy ice. Greg found this rather awkward and touching at the same time. There was a first time for everything. And this was certainly a first. He never imagined that Grissom could stoop so low as to spoon-feed his subordinate. What would the other team members think? They'd probably have to see it to believe it.

Greg savored three spoonfuls of crushed ice before speaking. The ice relieved his fiery throat and there was no better sensation than the feeling of cool water trickling down his esophagus.

"Do you feel sorry for me?" Greg said. "Is that why you're doing this? I can manage you know."

"Sorry – no." Grissom lied. "I actually feel sorry for your mom. She hasn't left your bedside not once nor has she stopped fussing over you."

Greg accepted another spoonful and crunched on the ice slowly.

"But seeing how you are, I don't blame her. She's worried and scared for you." Grissom said.

Greg felt like crap and really wasn't in the mood to talk. Even all the chewing on the ice made his mouth tired. He just wanted to close his eyes and drift off into his feverish sleep again. But he didn't want to be rude to Grissom so he tried very hard to be coherent during his visit.

"I'm afraid I won't be much of a good company today." Greg mumbled.

"It's ok." Grissom said. "I don't expect you to be."

"But I'm glad you came." Greg waved off Grissom's next offer of ice.

"I'm glad to be here." Grissom smiled.

Grissom put the cup of ice down and took up the cold compress again. Greg did not object. Nothing could beat the relief he felt when the cold cloth came into contact with his hot skin. It was too good to pass up even for the sake of pride.

"Grissom, can I tell you something?" Greg said finally. Something had been on his mind.

"Sure." Grissom said.

"I don't know if this is even relevant to anything." Greg's voice got a degree softer.

"What is it?"

"I _think _I remembered something back at the crime scene. You know, just before – before I got shot."

"You do?"

"See, I'm not sure. I get these little sudden bursts of memories from time to time. I don't know if they're real or imagined. Maybe it's the fever talking. It might be a wild goose chase." Greg warned. He wet his lips.

"You let me be the judge of that. Now, continue."

"The man with the gun – there was something shiny on him."

"Shiny?"

"I don't know what it was. It may have been a button or something that reflected from the light – I dunno." Greg said. "But I remember it caught my attention before the gun went off."

"Do you remember anything else about this shiny object?"

"It was gold color. I think it even blinded me for a second." Greg said. "It's all I can remember though."

Grissom absorbed this information for a while. This was surely a strange yet possibly crucial observation. Greg wished to be more helpful but at the moment, this was the best he could do. He stared at Grissom's lips as they disappeared into his salt and pepper beard.

"Alright, I will keep it in mind." Grissom said thoughtfully, breaking the silence. He busied himself with the wash cloth again.

"It doesn't help, does it?" Greg said sadly. Pleasing Grissom was all Greg ever wanted to do. Right then, he felt like he failed Grissom miserably.

"I won't rule out anything just yet. All information, whether useful or otherwise, should always be considered." Grissom said intelligently. "It's our job to filter."

The gentle words consoled Greg and made him feel a little better. In silence, he watched Grissom administer the cool cloth. He thought to himself how lucky he was to have the pleasure of knowing someone like Grissom.

Grissom wasn't only his boss. He was like a father to him. A father.

End of Chapter 6

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Please don't hesitate to sign a review if you get a chance. :)


	7. Wild Goose Chase

Chapter 7: Wild Goose Chase

"Look buddy, you're barkin' up the wrong tree." Max Zudor said as he stared coldly at Detective Jim Brass from across the metal table in the interrogation room.

"No, I think I'm barking up the _right_ tree." Brass retorted. "Please explain why we found your DNA at the crime scene."

"And I'm telling you for the one hundredth time - I don't know what you're talking about." Max readjusted the collar on his green Hawaiian shirt. He folded his hairy arms across his chest and sat low on his seat.

Brass was starting to get impatient with his only suspect. It had been a long day and Brass was both mentally and physically exhausted. The interrogation had only just begun and Brass already wished he could condemn this man for the murder of Nadine Sharp and the attempted murder of CSI Greg Sanders. Brass could smell a scumbag a mile away and Max Zudor fell into that category.

"The sooner you tell me the truth, the sooner you can be on your way." Brass said. "Hey, there's nothing on my agenda. We have all night." He bluffed.

"You pigs can't pin nothing on me. I didn't do anything." Max rebutted. He flicked his stringy bleach-blond hair back with a palm.

"Your DNA puts _you_ at the crime scene." Brass was bored of this cat-and-mouse game. "It's the same crime scene where we found Nadine Sharp shot to death. That doesn't look good for you." He reminded.

Max said nothing. His deeply wrinkled hollow eyes only stared at the stack of files that were sitting in front of Brass. The silence maintained itself for the next eight seconds. Brass, then, opened one of the files and casually began perusing its contents.

Brass thumbed through the papers and took out a photograph. He pushed it towards Max without saying a word.

"What's this?" Max said as he leaned forward to have a look. It was a picture of the stub of a used cigarette butt.

Max gave out a whole-hearted laugh. "So, this is all about a cigarette butt?! Oh, I can't believe you guys! You find one little cig butt and suddenly the blame's on me. Unreal!" He laughed again like as if it was the best knee-slapping joke he'd ever heard in his life. "I'm sure your brainy CSIs or whatever have already found out by now that Nadine and I are related – she's my half-sister. So it's not unnatural to find one of my cigarette butts in her house, wouldn't you say? Detective?" He mocked.

Brass cleared his throat. "This cigarette butt was found _inside_ the victim's panic room. Now, how is that possible?"

"That's because I helped her built the damn thing some years back." Max said. "If you bothered to check my records, you'll know that after doing time in the state prison, I started working for a contractor. Nadine may have been my half-sister but she was a lunatic with major safety issues. She's got more than just a couple screws loose, if ya know what I mean." He tapped his temple with his index finger implying his sister's frame of mind. "She was paranoid and obsessed with people breaking into her house. So, she asked me to build her a panic room and that's what I did."

"Somehow, I doubt you'd be the type who would do it out of the kindness of your own heart." Brass said.

"I was in it for the money." Max admitted. He grinned to show a row of rotted teeth. The drunken beachcomber-look kicked in.

"Obviously." Brass sighed.

"She was willin' to pay me double of what someone else would've charged for the same job."

"It was too good an offer to pass up." Brass toyed nonchalantly.

"Exactly." Max nodded. "Look, it's not like the nut case really minded. And it wasn't like as if it'd break her bank either. Her father left her with a pretty good amount of money after he died. I would say she's well taken care of."

"You're feeding off of her fear." Brass said.

"Ain't a crime. She got what she wanted and I got what I wanted. All's fair." Max shrugged indifferently. "I had a smoke while on the job. Last I checked, _that_ ain't a crime."

"No, but murder is. So, where were you on the night of the 27th?" Brass decided to just cut to the chase.

"I was at home alone making friends with the beer." Max said smugly. "And watchin' the game on TV."

"Can anyone vouch for that?" Brass asked.

"Yea, Vinny."

"Vinny?"

"My pit bull." Max said.

"So, what was the score?" Brass asked. He was trying to see if Max really was at home watching the game.

"Those dang Yanks beat the A's 6 to 3. Can you believe that?" Max suddenly sprang to life. "I've never seen a worst lost than that. Fucking humiliating. But I gotta tell you, with two home runs under their belts in the second inning, I thought the A's had a fighting chance at winning. But no. The Yanks beat 'em anyway." He suddenly stopped, realizing he was talking way too much.

"Basically, you don't really have an alibi for the night of the murder." Brass drummed his fingers on the table. "Aside from Vinny."

"Oh wait – at around 7:30, the pizza delivery guy came to deliver my pizza. It's from the pizzeria on Flamingo Road. It's called um…uh…" Max said as he tried to recall the name of the eatery. "Ah! Luigi's. That's it! Luigi's. L-U-I-G…"

"I know how it's spelt." Brass cut in, feeling annoyed.

"Go ask 'em. I ordered a supreme with no mushrooms. They'll tell ya I was home that night." Max blabbered.

"I will." Brass said. He was disappointed that Max may be telling the truth. Perhaps he really wasn't the scumbag who killed Nadine Sharp and put a bullet into Greg's chest. "Did your sister have any enemies? Boyfriends, ex-boyfriends? Anyone at all that might benefit from her being killed?" He finally asked, desperate for answers.

"First of all, she's my _half_-sister. The only thing we have in common is our mother. I don't keep tabs on her life and she doesn't keep tabs on mine. We're very _distant _relatives." Max seemed offended. It was pretty obvious that he and Nadine did not get along.

"You don't care that she's lying in the morgue right now?" Brass questioned.

"Not really." Max puffed. His cold-hearted ambivalence was uncanny. "Look, all I know is, she'd been spending a lot of her time at a bar called Shimmy. My buddies have seen her there on quite a few occasions. Don't let her innocent looks fool you. She ain't as virginal as you think." He cackled with insane laughter.

"I'm surprised you haven't asked for a lawyer yet." Brass tested.

"Don't need one. 'Cause I ain't done nothing. 'Sides, lawyers are leeches. They'll suck your blood dry then leave you hanging. Look where it got me." Max said referring to the conviction on his drug charge. He shifted in his chair. "Is there anything else, detective? Can I go now?" He sounded annoyed.

"Alright, but don't even think about skippin' town." Brass said. "We're done here."

Somehow, Grissom was not going to be pleased. Their only suspect was now no longer a suspect. They were back to square one. Brass' only hope was that something miraculous will turn up at Shimmy.

* * *

Grissom was on his way to the trace lab to see if Hodges had anything on the torn piece of fabric that was found in the sewers. He sauntered pass the lounge where Nick just finished pouring himself some coffee into a paper cup. Seeing Grissom walk by, Nick jogged up to meet him.

"Hey Griss." Nick called him from behind. "Mind if I walk with you?"

"Not at all." Grissom said. "Still drinking that?" He nodded to what he often referred to as "acid coffee."

"It's pretty bad, isn't it?" Nick frowned while looking into his coffee cup.

"You miss Greg's Blue Hawaiian, don't you?" Grissom tried to smile.

"Mmm, that was good coffee." Nick relished. "Hand-picked according to Greg, you know." He added humorously.

"Only forty bucks a pound." Grissom recalled and they chuckled lightly.

"Have you seen Greg? How's he doing?" Nick asked and the somber mode returned.

Judging by Grissom's frown, Nick figured it wasn't good. "Last I was there, he was running a high fever." Grissom explained.

"Sounds dangerous." Nick said in a serious tone.

"They're trying to keep him as comfortable as possible. His fever did go down slightly before I left." Grissom said. "Cool wet towels and ice."

"Greg seems to be having an awful hard time with this recovering." Nick shook his head.

"He's weak but at least he's getting better each day." Grissom replied.

"I'm going to swing by the hospital later and see him." Nick said as he took a sip of his coffee.

Grissom and Nick turned the corridor and arrived at the trace lab, where Hodges was waiting patiently for Grissom's arrival. His ability to know exactly when Grissom was coming always freaked everyone out. It was like as if he had some sort of weird "Grissom Radar" built into his brain.

Hodges had an unnatural way of putting Grissom on a pedestal. Not only did he desperately want to gain Grissom's favor, but he also intended to "out-shine" the entire crime lab. He was smart, and he knew it. But because he also allowed his ego to out-shine his ability, he was not always well-liked by the team. The team often put up with his sarcasm in order to solve the case. They believed Hodges to be one of those characters that they could never figure out. One minute, he was pompous and arrogant, and the next, he was compassionate.

Hodges was casually resting an elbow on the counter and staring straight at the door when Grissom entered. His mousy face lit up when he saw Grissom. But immediately frowned when he saw Nick shortly behind.

"I was expecting you." Hodges said to Grissom as he straightened the sleeve of his white lab coat. "By the way, you look very dashing today."

Nick shot an amused glance at Grissom's direction and forced himself to take another sip of that awful coffee.

"Did you get anything off that piece of fabric?" Grissom said after clearing his throat.

It was clearer than crystal that Hodges always sucked up to Grissom. Perhaps just about everyone knew. Unlike other supervisors and the higher-ups, Grissom didn't like the extra attention. Through Grissom's eyes, preferred treatment was not necessary. All any one had to do to gain his approval, was to do the work that was asked of him.

"The crud stuck on the fabric had high concentrations of petroleum hydrocarbon." Hodges began and was about to continue when Nick interrupted.

"Motor oil." Nick cut to the chase.

"I was just getting to that." Hodges puffed. He seemed annoyed at Nick's sudden outburst.

"I know my cars." Nick shrugged, secretly delighted that he stepped on Hodges' toe.

"It's Penzzoil, to be exact. Know anyone that uses Penzzoil?" Hodges squinted at Nick quizzically.

"Ahem." Grissom cleared his throat again, giving a hint to get things back on track.

"Would you like a cough drop?" Hodges said politely to Grissom, while ignoring Nick. "Really, you should take care of that raspy throat." He rambled.

"Is that all your findings?" Grissom said, growing more and more impatient.

"I ran some tests on the fabric and it's a durable canvas-like material – most likely found in denim or heavy duty work shirts." Hodges darted a mean look at Nick then softened again when he looked at Grissom. "And I found a small trace of blood absorbed into the weaves of the fabric. I sent it up to DNA."

"Anything else?" Grissom asked.

"No, that's about it." Hodges replied.

"Thank you, Hodges." Grissom said mechanically as he walked out of the lab, without giving Hodges the opportunity to suck up further. Nick followed Grissom out the door and gave Hodges a childish I-got-the-last-laugh grin before exiting. Hodges was left with mouth hanging as he watched the empty doorframe.

* * *

"Honey, what are you looking for?" Ingrid said to a restless Greg.

Ingrid glanced over in the direction that distracted her son. Apparently, he was looking at the table adjacent to where his mother sat. There was a wide table that resembled some sort of metal cabinet taking up nearly the entire stretch from the bed to the door. A few drawers with silver handles ran underneath the flat counter. No doubt they held emergency medical supplies and other hospital items.

On top of the table were a vast display of Get Well cards of all sizes and colors, along with flowers in a vase and a couple of teddy bears that the people back at the lab had sent him to cheer him up and wish him a speedy recovery.

"I wanted to see if there were any new cards that came." Greg said as he craned his neck to get a better look at the display.

"Don't you think that if you did, I would have told you?" Ingrid said rather humorously.

Greg made a mental count of which card was sent by whom and matched each card to a name…Grissom, Nick, Warrick, Catherine and Lindsay, Wendy, Archie, Mandy, Henry, Hodges, plus other lab rats that known Greg, as well as several people from the administration department. He even got one from Ecklie – which was a complete surprise. Greg guessed Ecklie did it not because he had a kind and sympathetic soul but because he was afraid his bureaucratic ass might get sued or something.

After a few more minutes of deciphering, Greg realized he couldn't find what he was looking for and gave up. Feeling slightly depressed, he stared down at the IV that was stuck in the crook of his arm.

"Was it a card in particular?" Ingrid finally asked.

"I – I was looking to see if dad sent me a card." Greg's voice reduced to a mumble.

"Oh." Ingrid said, not expecting Greg to say such a thing. "No. Not yet." She tried to sound hopeful.

"Well, I won't bank on it." Greg shrugged. He refused eye contact with his mother. "I mean what was I thinking anyway? Like he'd actually care?"

"Greg, don't say such things. There are lots of people who DO care about you. Focus on _that_."

"Mom, does he even know what happened to me?" Greg asked as he looked squarely into Ingrid's eyes to see if she would lie. "Honest, mom."

Ingrid sighed. "He knows. I called him." She hurried. This obviously wasn't good enough for Greg.

"Did he pick up the phone or was it his voice mail?" Greg pressed.

"Greg…" Ingrid said nervously, insisting him to stop doing this.

"How many times _did _you call him before you got through?" Greg's voice shook. Sometimes, it hurt to breath. The air he forced into his lungs burned his insides.

"Is this really necessary?" Ingrid's tone grew a notch louder.

"I just wanna know." Greg said stubbornly. "The truth. How many times?"

"Maybe ten or eleven times. I can't be certain. I was so distraught that day." Ingrid said in a small voice.

Greg was silent as he digested the answer.

"Why are you always hoping that man will wake up one day and welcome you back into his life with open arms?" Ingrid said.

"What did he say?" Greg asked, while ignoring his mother's question. "Tell me."

"Fine." Ingrid felt defeated. "When I got him on the phone, he was in the middle of a board meeting. I told him what happened. At first, he sounded concerned but then I heard a door slam in the background, then his manner changed. There must've been other people in the room when his secretary patched in the call. Afterwards, he just seemed sort of annoyed that I interrupted his meeting. There, you happy now?"

"Did he ask if I was alright?" Greg said.

"I told him you were in intensive care and at the time, things were looking grim." Ingrid stammered, her Norwegian accent getting a little thicker as she spoke. This often happened when she got nervous.

"Did he _ask _about me?" Greg repeated.

"He didn't have to. I already explained the situation to him." She said.

"I guess that's a no then." He answered his own question solemnly. "Well, if he did care at least a little bit, I would've heard from him by now."

"Greg, don't do this to yourself." Ingrid warned. "It's not worth it. He hasn't been in our lives for so many years already and we've gotten along fine without him. You should forget him."

"Since I almost died, I figured this might be a good incentive for him to see me. Thought I could've used this whole getting shot situation to my advantage. You know, rekindle our father-son relationship. I – I probably would've forgiven him too. But I was foolish to think that. This just proves it. You're right mom, I should forget dear old dad. It's pretty obvious now, that he doesn't care if I live or die."

Greg tried to appear unaffected by it but tears were already welling up in his eyes. He looked towards the window and pretended to be suddenly interested in a crow that was circling the sky – weaving in and out of view.

He wondered why life had to be so damn hard. All he ever wanted was to be accepted, to be liked, to belong somewhere. Being rejected by his own father was something of a final blow.

Ingrid noticed Greg quickly wiping a tear or two away with his left hand. It was bad enough he couldn't move his right arm. "Greg." Ingrid called. When Greg didn't listen she cupped each hand on his semi-wet cheeks gently and said, "Sweetheart, I want you to look at that table." She directed Greg's face towards the table displaying the cards and various gift items.

"Look at that table." Ingrid instructed. "_Those_ are all the people who care about you. _They_ are the ones who gave a damn if you live or die." She pointed to the cards. "Don't let one man's neglect blind you in realizing what you _do_ have."

"I can't help but feel a little sorry for myself." Greg muttered. "I mean, they're great friends and somehow, I realized this more so now after all this. I can even feel that they've changed. I'm not used to the special treatment. I'd much rather be kicked around and under their thumb."

"You don't mean that."

"I kinda do." Greg said. "It's a comfort zone thing. You wouldn't understand, mom."

"I think Grissom, Nick, Warrick, and Catherine are good people and they mean well. They care about you as much as I do. I've seen their reactions and they are genuine."

Greg sighed heavily – and doing that was painful. He made a mental note not to breathe so hard until his lungs healed. They just weren't as strong as they used to be. "Well, it would've been nice if I got a card from dad at the very least. I wouldn't be so disappointed." He managed a little smile. When he saw his mother's cold stare at those words, he quickly said, "But I know I was just getting my hopes up. Hurts."

"I know it does, but we get over it eventually."

"I guess."

"Now, I don't want any more tears out of you." Ingrid ordered. "There will be no more talk about your father. We don't need to be reminded of him. We're gonna concentrate on the future, ok? You're going to get well and get back into the swing of things." She kissed the back of Greg's hand.

They were interrupted by a small knock on the door. The door swung open slowly and a head peaked in.

"Hey, hope I didn't come in a bad time," came the cheerful voice of Nick Stokes. "I brought us some lunch." He held out a large paper bag.

"Nick!" Greg winced, he breathed too deeply again. Once the pain went away, he continued. "I didn't think you'd come by until later."

"Naw, thought I'd come early today and bring lunch. Figured you're sick of this crappy hospital food. I went to Chipotle." Nick said as he walked to the middle of the room and set the paper bag down on the rolling table. He exchanged pleasantries with Ingrid and took the items out of the bag.

"I really hope y'all are hungry. I got plenty of food here." Nick said.

"Smells great." Greg said as he caught the strong aroma of spices, refried beans, and hot meat. He'd forgotten how hungry he was. Then again, he couldn't remember the last time he felt this hungry. When the hospital food came round, he usually picked at it endlessly yet had no desire to eat it. His refusal to eat caused the doctors put him on the IV.

"I'm glad you think so," replied Nick. "Hope a chicken quesadilla's ok? I know you love those spicy jumbo cheese-n-beef guacamole burritos but I think it's gonna go rough on your stomach. You need to go easy and then build."

"It's fine." Greg said.

Greg thought it was interesting how Nick paid so much attention to detail. He was one of the few who actually gave a damn. Nick was the big brother that he never had. Even through his teasing and mocking, Nick was always there looking out for him and protecting him. Greg understood how all this must've affected Nick.

Greg watched Ingrid and Nick digging the bottom of the bag for forks and knives, set the food, take out napkins and distributing paper plates. Before the meal started, the _ker-plunk _sounds of soda cans opening filled the room. And because Greg was one arm short of use, Ingrid helped Greg cut the quesadilla into smaller pieces.

He hated to be spoon fed in front of Nick but after two or three tries on his own, he felt the debilitating pain. He was shot in the chest but all the muscles and nerves seem to be connected to each other in some insane way. When he moved his right usable arm, it hurt - when he breathed, it hurt – when he tried to move to a better position, it hurt – when he moved his hips, it hurt – when he moved his legs, it hurt. It was downright frustrating.

Ingrid noticed it before Nick. She was already aware of her son's physical limitations. Without saying a word, she proceeded to help Greg. She fed him forkfuls of food.

"You in pain?" Nick asked in between bites.

"Yea." Greg admitted. "I'm so wasted I can't even feed myself. How pathetic is that?"

"Ain't no shame in it. You've been through helluva lot and it's ok to let someone help you out." Nick said while chewing.

Greg shrugged and stared at his napkin.

"Well, thank you Nick, for bringing over lunch." Ingrid said cheerfully. "It was very thoughtful of you."

"Aw, it was nothing." Nick said. Greg could've sworn he saw Nick blush.

Greg ate his fill of food. It was probably more food than he had eaten in the last few days. Perhaps his appetite was creeping back. The Mexican food really hit the spot. He didn't even remember a chicken quesadilla tasting quite so delicious.

"Nick, I wanna ask you something." Greg said after the meal was finished.

"Shoot." Nick said while taking a sip from his can of soda.

"What's Grissom's plan?"

"What do you mean?" Nick sounded lost.

"Is – Is he gonna find a replacement for me?" Greg said in a low tone. Ingrid was busy cleaning up the garbage and was not within earshot.

"Replace you?! Why would he do that?" Nick said.

"Come on Nick. Be a pal. Just let me know if that's what he's gonna do."

"Wait – hold on a minute." Nick said with a laugh. "You've got it all wrong here."

"Isn't it obvious? I'm busted up real bad with getting shot and all. It's gonna take weeks of therapy before I get back up to speed with you guys. Then, he's gonna make me go get a psyche evaluation with the department shrink, which will then determine that I'm psychologically inept and so, I won't be allowed to come back to work."

"Whoa, Greg. You're jumping way ahead of yourself." Nick said. "Before you condemn yourself, let me tell you this. You are an important part of this team and you should know by now that we – Griss, Catherine, Warrick, me, you – we're more than a team. We're a family and we look out for each other. You're a part of us, Greg. We wouldn't just abandon you."

Greg should be worrying more about his health than his job security. His recovery was inching along at a slow pace. It was hard for him to realize what was happening, especially since everyone kept this from him. They felt there was no need to get him stressed out. Greg had a weak body since birth and the doctors were right. It seemed to take him longer to heal from wounds and recover from illnesses. This was the Greg that his mother knew.

Suffering from a near fatal gunshot wound to the chest was a far cry from a cold or a skinned knee. Gunshot injuries were no joke. Someone as weak as Greg was extremely lucky to have survived at all. Just about everyone knew that.

"So, Grissom has no intentions of replacing me?" Greg said sheepishly, feeling quite foolish.

"No, so you can relax. We won't trade you in for something new and shiny. Promise." Nick teased and laughed.

Looking quite pale still, Greg smiled and leaned the back of his head against his pillow.

End of Chapter 7

Author's Note: Thanks for reading!! Please sign a review if you get a chance!


	8. The Fifth Picture

Chapter 8: The Fifth Picture

"So, I hear you're finally flying the coop." A nurse said as she came into Greg's soon-to-be-former hospital room unannounced, pushing an empty wheelchair. "Can I give you a lift?" She motioned to the chair.

"Hey Flora." Greg greeted the nurse with a casual smile. He looked awkwardly at the wheelchair and thought of how much it would cramp his style to be wheeled in that thing. "Uh, thanks but I think I got it from here."

"You have raised a very head-strong boy." Nurse Flora said to Ingrid, who had been helping Greg put his belongings into a blue duffle bag.

"Oh, you don't know the half of it, dear." Ingrid laughed.

"I'm sorry Greg, but its hospital policy. We have to wheel you out." The nurse said firmly. There was a certain authoritative tone to her voice that reminded Greg of Grissom.

"You better listen to what the good nurse says." Ingrid insisted while folding Greg's sweatpants, stuffing it into the bag and zippered it up.

"But I can walk just fine, see?" Greg, who had his right arm securely fastened into a grey canvas sling, walked carefully across the room. He had to admit that he was a little wobbly at times, but for the most part, he could get from point A to point B without too much trouble.

"Um-hm." Nurse Flora said, not impressed. "I see. But that doesn't change the rules."

"Greg sweetie, will you stop being difficult and just listen to the nurse?" Ingrid said in a huff.

"I'm not being difficult." Greg said defensively.

"Alright, stop fooling around and get your butt in the wheelchair." Nurse Flora's voice was as loud and threatening as a drill sergeant. Her firmness startled Greg and he was suddenly afraid of the otherwise friendly dark-haired nurse.

Greg obeyed and cowardly took a seat in the wheelchair.

"See, that's not so bad, now is it?" Nurse Flora said. Her drill sergeant tone was gone and replaced by the amicable nature that Greg was used to. "You just gotta know how to talk to patients sometimes. Show 'em who's boss." She said to Ingrid and they laughed.

Just then, another nurse appeared at the doorframe. It was Nurse Agatha. She was a much older nurse, not nearly as attractive as Nurse Flora, but still one of the nice ones who took care of Greg.

"We'll miss you, you know." Nurse Agatha said to Greg.

"I'll miss all of you too. You guys have been great. I appreciate it a lot." Greg said while alternating glances between the two nurses.

"You're welcome. It's part of our job." Nurse Agatha said and smiled.

Greg was thrilled he was finally deemed well enough by the doctors to be released from the hospital. He'd been in the hospital for three weeks, two days, and six hours – he counted off the days like as if he was in prison. He was definitely going to miss the nurses, who have grown quite attached to Greg from the start.

"Maybe I'll come by and say hi, if I'm in the area sometime." Greg said.

"Yes, you do that, babe." Nurse Agatha said.

"Ok, I think we're all set." Ingrid said as she swung the duffle bag over her shoulder.

"Have you got your pills?" Nurse Flora reminded.

"Right here." Greg patted his pocket.

"Good, are ya ready?" Nurse Flora said. "This is a big moment."

Greg let out a deep breath and said, "Yep. Let's go."

He was glad to never have to set his eyes on the beige-colored room again. He'd spent enough days lying in bed staring up at the ceiling, counting and analyzing the square tiles. He would definitely not miss the hospital food and being poked and prodded with medical equipment at all hours of the night. Those days were gone and he was finally allowed to go home.

Ingrid chatted with Nurse Agatha and Nurse Flora pushed Greg in the wheelchair as they walked to the outpatient area – a rather spacious carpeted vestibule with a few neat rows of chairs. Surprisingly, the outpatient area was not as crowded as it should be during this time of the day. Aside from the few that were also being released, there were only a handful of people wandering around – and half of them appeared to be hospital staff and personnel.

Ingrid stopped at the front desk to fill out some release papers. Nurse Flora wheeled into the end of the room and parked Greg right in front of the automatic double doors.

"Okay, this is where you get off." Nurse Flora said.

Greg stifled a grunt as he got up. His legs felt a little rubbery but he shook it off. The soreness and dull pain were natural and the pills would easily take care of that. He stood facing the two nurses, who looked back at him most admirably.

"Alright now, you take care." Nurse Agatha said and gave Greg a gentle hug followed by a kiss on the cheek. "You come back for the follow-up in two weeks and stay away from stress."

"Thanks Agatha. I will. Bye!" Greg said. He towered over Nurse Agatha by a head. Her hug was comforting. There was certainly something very grandmotherly about her that Greg liked. He turned to Nurse Flora, who was already misty-eyed.

"Get lots of sleep, don't forget to take your pills, and for Heaven's sake, stay away from those bad guys." Nurse Flora's voice shook but she covered it up with a laugh. "You take care of yourself, you hear?" She, too, gave Greg a farewell hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"I will. Thank you." Greg felt the tips of his ears reddened. But somehow, he couldn't stop grinning. It wasn't everyday that he had a pretty nurse fawning over him.

When Ingrid was finally done with the paperwork, she cordially said her good-byes to the nurses and headed out the door with her son. Nurses Flora and Agatha did not move from their spots until Ingrid and Greg disappeared into a taxi cab. It was sort of like seeing their fledgling leave home for the first time.

* * *

"Well Greg, we're finally home." Ingrid said as they started up the steps to the apartment complex. "I did a little cleaning over that last few weeks. I'm sure you wouldn't mind that. You have a really nice place but you need to do more cleaning and organizing."

Ingrid fished for the keys in her leather handbag. Without turning around, she continued talking. "Seriously honey, you have a sense of a billy goat. Sometimes, I wonder where you get that from. I know you didn't inherit that trait from me. And another thing, there is a colony of something breeding in your fridge. This is why expiry dates were invented – so you know when to throw out spoiled food. I had to disinfect your whole fridge." She rambled on. She often did this when she was excited about something.

She reached the door and inserted the key into the lock. "I think you will find your apartment in better condition now. It also smells nicer than it did before, especially your bathroom. I did a scrub down. I even got a couple of those scented candles."

Ingrid turned around to see what was taking her son so long. To her surprise, Greg was far behind, still climbing the stairs.

"There are way too many steps here. I need to take a break." Greg complained wearily from the middle of the stairs. His left hand held the banister with a firm grip. The poor kid looked pale and exhausted from the mere trek from the cab to the stairs.

"Come on, Greg. There are only eighteen steps. You're more than half way up. You're getting way too big to be carried." Ingrid joked.

Just as Greg was about to respond to that comment, a door opened right across from Greg's apartment and a wrinkled old woman's face poked out of the door frame. She smiled deeply, showing fake teeth.

"Aha, I thought I heard familiar voices out here." The old woman said cheerfully with a head full of plastic hair curlers bobbing as she spoke. She smiled at Ingrid and quickly turned her attention to a moving figure midway up the stairs.

"Oh, hi Mrs. Silverman." Greg greeted his neighbor.

Mrs. Silverman inspected Greg carefully and her eyes settled onto the gray sling that held Greg's right arm. There was a look of dismay then followed by a sympathetic frown. "Are you alright? I heard what happened. It's terrible."

"I'm much better, thanks." Greg said sheepishly as he climbed another step slowly.

"You ought to be more careful." Mrs. Silverman said in a raspy old lady tone.

Ingrid smiled, "I've been telling him that for years." The women shared a laugh.

"I'm glad to see you're back on your feet, young man." Mrs. Silverman stated. "Ingrid did say you were being released today, so I made you a pecan pie. If you'll just wait there for a second, I'll go get it."

"Mrs. Silverman, that's very kind of you but you didn't have to go through all the trouble." Ingrid said.

"Nonsense, it's a recipe that's been in my family for years. I only make it on special occasions…and when the grandkids come over." The old woman chuckled lightly. "Just a sec." She insisted and disappeared from the doorframe.

Ingrid stepped into Greg's apartment and set the duffle bag down. Greg finally made it to the top of the stairs in a tired huff. His weakened lung made it difficult to be as agile as he was before the incident. By the time he made it to the door – room 2B – Mrs. Silverman was back holding a circular pan with a sheet of aluminum foil covering the top.

"Here it is. Enjoy." Mrs. Silverman said merrily as she handed the covered pie to Ingrid, who thanked her profusely and promised to return the pie dish soon. Greg gave Mrs. Silverman a hug and thanked her for the pie.

Stepping into his old apartment was like stepping into another world. Greg never realized how much potential his small pad had for looking like an inhabitable dwelling. It was a big extreme going from the clutter of books, gadgets, articles of clothing lying around aimlessly to an extremely organized, sweet-smelling livable residence. The transformation was breath-taking and refreshing at the same time – thanks to his mother.

Everything had a place – whether it was in the cabinet, on the bookshelf, in a drawer or contained in a bin, all was neatly filed away. Being a bachelor, Greg had gotten used to his sloppy ways and never thought about cleaning or tidying up. In addition, his job left him very little time to worry about housework.

Greg walked over to the sofa and took a seat. Sighing heavily, he leaned back. He watched his mother in the kitchen.

"You look tired, honey." Ingrid said.

"I kinda am." Greg replied. "The apartment looks great, mom. Thanks for fixing it up."

Ingrid smiled. "What do you want for dinner?"

"I'll eat anything." This was true. Although he was not packing on any additional weight, Greg's appetite had returned.

"Ok, then. Pasta it is."

"Sounds great. Do you know what I really, really want right now?" Greg stared dreamily at the gray TV screen in front of him.

"What is it, sweetheart?" Ingrid replied from the kitchen. She was pulling out ingredients and placing them on the counter. It looked like she was armed and ready to cook for an army. Greg found it miraculous that he finally had a refrigerator stocked with food. Most of the time, it was just a few cans of soda, old pizza and some leftover chow mein from Wong's. Having a real home-cooked meal was hard to come by, especially since he was clueless when it came to cooking.

"A nice long hot shower." Greg said.

"Go on, take that shower. Dinner won't be ready for a while." She insisted. "I left you some fresh clothes to change into on your bed. I had a feeling you'd want to shower."

"Thanks mom. You think of everything." Greg chirped. He got up from the sofa with a grunt. The dull pain in his chest still lingered.

"You ok there?" Ingrid asked.

"Yea. Fine." Greg winced and wobbled towards the hall leading to the bathroom.

"Alright. Holler if you need anything. And baby, leave the bathroom door unlocked, ok?" She instructed.

"I'm fine, mom. It's just a little sore."

"I know. Just leave the door unlocked." Ingrid repeated.

"Ok, but you don't need to bust in there if I don't come out in ten minutes. I'll tell you now that bath time is going to be a slow process." Greg warned.

"Honey, you talk too much. It's not like I've never seen you naked before." Ingrid said nonchalantly as she busied herself with taking pans and utensils out of the cabinets.

"Mo-om." Greg whined in exaggerated annoyance.

Ingrid stifled a laugh as she watched her son disappear into the hallway. She then brought her attention back to her cooking project.

It had been a long time since she had the pleasure of "taking care" of her son. Time passed so quickly that before she knew it, Greg was off to college and she rarely had the chance to see him. There was always schoolwork or study groups or chess tournaments or chemistry club meetings. He seemed way too busy to hang out with his dear old mom. But she understood. Ingrid was the type of mother who respected her child's need for space and independent growth. There were plenty of times she worried about her son and his dicey profession, but there was nothing she could do about that. Greg made his own decisions.

Greg, on the other hand, knew what he was getting himself into when he joined the Las Vegas Crime Lab and eventually becoming a field investigator. He enjoyed analyzing trace in the lab and fiddling with the machines, but working in the field was a step up – a bigger challenge – and he found it most rewarding.

Getting shot was not something that he thought could ever happen to him if he was extra careful. The experience of taking a bullet in the chest would scar him physically and mentally forever. Grissom gave Greg additional time off from work to recuperate. It wasn't a suggestion, it was an order and Greg had no choice but to conform to his supervisor's request.

* * *

Around midday the next morning, Greg's cell phone sprang to life with the loud eerie acoustics of a Marilyn Manson ring tone. It took him a while to dig out the phone from his pocket. Having his right arm in a sling really put him at a disadvantage.

"Hello?" Greg finally answered.

"Hey Greg," A cheerful male voice said. "Buddy, how are you? It's Nick."

"Oh hey Nick." Greg greeted. "Doin' ok."

"Where are you? Home?" Nick asked. There was a sort of urgency in his tone.

"Actually, I'm having brunch at The Bagel Hole with my mom. The breakfast burritos here are fantastic." Greg gave his mom, who was sitting directly across from him, a wink.

"Listen, I know this is your time off and I really hate to bother you, but need to ask you something." Nick said.

"It's no bother. What's up?" Greg replied.

"It's about your case. We may have a lead on a suspect…but we need you to come in and look at some pictures." Nick said. "See if you recognize the man that shot you."

There was a pause.

"You – you mean like a line up?" Greg's nervous voice cracked.

"Well, no. Just look at pictures." Nick said. "Brass and I went down to Shimmy – that slimy bar on Paradise Road – and asked around about our vic Nadine Sharp. The natives got a little restless and we had to make some arrests. It turns out that half the thugs had priors, so we're racking our brains here." He summed it up.

"What about the blood on the fabric swatch that you found in the sewer line?"

"DNA takes a week. They're backed up as it is. And as for the motor oil? Well, guess what? Shimmy is a hangout for motorcycle and truck enthusiasts. Kinda hard to narrow down our suspect, don't'cha think?" Nick said. "Grissom was hoping it might jog up your memory if you looked at the mug shots. He thinks you know more than you think you do."

"Well, I - I – I guess I could swing by the Crime Lab after brunch." Greg stammered. He didn't feel quite ready to face up to his nemesis just yet. In fact, it made him uneasy to think that he may be staring into the face of someone who wanted him dead.

"Great. I'll see ya in a while then?" Nick said.

"Yep." Greg replied and hung up after a brief farewell.

"What's going on?" Ingrid asked casually. She cut a piece of French toast with her knife and forked it into her mouth, watching Greg carefully as she chewed.

"That was Nick. A possible breakthrough on the case." Greg changed his tone. "Mom, I have to pop by the Crime Lab. Can you drop me off?"

"Uh, sure." She replied suspiciously. "Confidential stuff?"

"Nah, Grissom wants me to look at some pictures to see if I can somehow ID the man who shot me." He took a long sip of orange juice before setting the glass down.

"Oh." Ingrid grew serious. "Are you sure you're up for it?"

"Of course I would. Why wouldn't I be?" Greg said.

"It's just that whole trauma thing."

"Don't worry. I'll be fine. I _want_ to do this. It might help the case."

"The doctor said you should take it easy and stay away from stress."

"I know what the doctor said." Greg said. "I just feel like I need to do this. At least I gotta try."

"Ok, do you want me to go with you?" Ingrid asked and picked at what remained in her fruit cup. "You know, for moral support, of course."

"No. But thanks." Greg forced a grin. "I think I can manage this on my own."

"Only if you're sure."

"Yes, mom. I am." He sighed.

"Alright then, call me when you're ready to be picked up." Ingrid said. "Now, finish your burrito. It's getting cold."

* * *

Ingrid dropped off Greg in front of the Crime Lab building. Employees, simply differentiated by the plastic department-issued ID tags that swung from chains around their necks or clipped onto their clothing, propelled out of the revolving doors as they headed out to lunch. Clustered into groups of threes and fours, they chatted merrily. Greg passed by them on the way into the building. None of them seemed to notice him. But then again, they were the day shift and he was the night shift.

"Greggo!!" Nick called the second he caught a glimpse of the familiar mousey-haired, scrawny fellow lopping down the corridor.

Greg cracked a smile and met Nick halfway.

Nick sized his friend up and down, ignoring the right arm in a sling. "You're looking better." He said unconvincingly.

Apparently, Nick was not very good at lying and Greg knew it but he let it slide. Greg knew he looked different. He lost a great deal of weight during his hospital stay. The looseness in his old clothes told him so. He practically had to belt his pants to keep them from falling off his hips. His complexion was still somewhat pale and sickly. After seeing Greg in such a delicate state, Nick felt a twinge of guilt for having dragged the kid into the office so soon.

"Are you sure you don't have a problem with this?" Nick asked skeptically.

"If I did, I wouldn't be here. I want to do this." Greg replied.

Nick surveyed Greg for a second before saying, "Alright, but you know I had to ask. They're waiting for us in the conference room."

Nick led the way down the hall. He slowed his pace considerably when he realized Greg was staggering stiffly to catch up.

"Y-You said _they. _Who else is in there?" Greg stammered.

"Relax, it's nothing formal. It's just Grissom, Brass, and Catherine." Nick answered. "I know it's early but they've been here since last night working on the case."

"All because of me, huh?" Greg tried to laugh at his own cleverness but then stopped short because of a stubborn soreness in his chest that seemed to surface whenever he laughed.

"Things are suddenly different when one of the victims is one of us." Nick explained. "It's an extra incentive to catch the bastard who did this to you."

Truly touched by the team's determination, Greg never imagined he was so important though the eyes of his colleagues. At that moment, he felt loved and a sense of belongingness – something he wanted so much but never revealed.

A faint aroma of old coffee wisped through the medium sized conference room as Grissom, Brass, and Catherine sat in plastic chairs around the rectangular table. Blinds were pulled to keep the strong sun's rays from entering the dimly lit room, giving the place a rather bluesy somber ambiance. The crew looked up when Nick entered the room with Greg.

"Hey everybody." Greg greeted sheepishly.

"Greg, it's good to see you." Catherine said as she got up to give Greg a warm tender hug, careful not to squeeze too tightly. "We miss you."

"Good to see you too, Catherine." Greg said, accepting the embrace. Her long blond hair tickled his nose.

"How are you doing?" Brass asked hiding his emotion. He gave Greg a lot of credit for surviving a gunshot wound.

"I've had better days, but at least now I know what it feels like to take a bullet. Definitely not as glamorous as seen in the movies." Greg grinned. He looked at Grissom, whose expression was equivalent to that of a proud father. Greg said, "I know you gave me time off, but it looks like I won't need that many days. I can come back to work next week."

"Greg, there are no negotiations about it." Grissom reprimanded. "You need time to recover."

"Yea, Greg. You're getting free time. You should take it." Nick said.

"But I'm fine." Greg insisted. "Physically – it could be a tiny challenge," he said looking at his sling. "But mentally - I'm all there."

"It's still a NO." Grissom said casually.

He was about to argue his point but the stares from those in the room made him refrain from pursuing the matter further. He will continue his petition with Grissom to return to work later.

"Sit down Greg. We want you to look at some pictures." Brass instructed.

Greg quietly took a seat opposite Brass. As much as he played it cool, it was pretty obvious to the others that Greg was nervy. He had every right to be – considering the circumstances.

"Greg, do you want to proceed?" Brass asked, noticing that Greg's face had gotten whiter.

"Yep. I'm ready." Greg replied. He swallowed the nauseous lump in his throat.

"Look, its ok." Catherine said in a motherly tone. She perched at the edge of her seat to Greg's right. "Just let us know if you see someone you recognize."

Greg nodded and took a deep breath as Brass took out the stack of photos from a folder. The young CSI waited patiently as the glossy 8 X 10's were placed before him. A chrome clock on the wall ticked away each agonizing second. Greg glanced over each picture that Brass revealed.

Perhaps Greg selfishly hoped none of the people would look familiar. That way, he wouldn't have to stare into the eyes of a cold-blooded killer. Somehow, it scared him to think that he _may _very well be able to identify his shooter. Maybe he wasn't ready for all this after all. But he was in too deep to back out now. Grissom and the others were counting on him.

There was something about the facial features of the man in the fifth picture. Greg stared harder without so much as a blink. He seemed to have ignored all the other pictures altogether. Was it the intimidating way the scruffy bald man gazed at the camera as his mug shot was taken? Were those the same cold, black eyes that drew a bead on him? Or maybe it was the slight curl of the thin lips on the man that looked hauntingly familiar. Greg's heart pounded faster and faster.

"Now, take your time." Brass said while he laid the rest of the pictures out on the table.

A flash of memory exploded in Greg's mind. He was suddenly transported back into the panic room. The cabinet door opened and a figure stepped out. The man wore a dark parka and a baseball cap. It was too dark to describe his outfit further. But the light from the tiffany lamp caught a glimpse of the man's face in the semi-darkness. Just before the gun fired, Greg saw the man's face. Yes, he saw his face! And it shared an eerie likeness to the man in the fifth picture.

Greg could feel his heart thumping against his chest. It was starting to get so painfully loud that perhaps Brass could even hear it from where he sat. Greg's thoughts were so distracted that he failed to hear Catherine call his name. He just couldn't tear his eyes away from that picture. It wasn't long before everyone in the room noticed Greg's sudden obsession with the fifth picture.

"Greg? Do you see someone you recognize?" Catherine said gently, touching Greg's shoulder.

Greg's lips trembled but he didn't say anything. He didn't even look up. There was an uncontrollable sense of panic building in his gut. He felt it starting to fester throughout his body. Trying hard not to lose his sanity, Greg balled his right fist, nails digging deep into his palm.

"Greg?" Catherine called when Greg didn't respond. She exchanged worried glances with the others.

The bald man in the photo seemed to taunt him with a despicable crooked budding smirk upon his rubber band lips. Greg found it extremely threatening. He had everything to fear from this man. Greg's unyielding fixation on the photo caused a stir.

"Do you recognize this man?" Catherine said patiently as she placed a finger on the fifth picture.

It would be so much easier to say he wasn't sure or that he didn't know. But doing that would be wrong. Greg knew better than to lie, especially to the team.

"Is this the man you saw in the panic room?" Catherine continued. She took the picture off the table and held it up. Greg's frightened eyes followed the picture, completely absorbed in the bald man's menacing grin. He even failed to realize that a cold sweat had glazed over his forehead.

"Greg, look at me." Grissom said. "Greg?"

It took a few seconds for Grissom's voice to register in Greg's brain. He snapped out of his trance and looked nervously at Grissom's direction. Greg's eyes met with the concerned expression on Grissom's face.

"It's ok. He won't hurt you anymore." Grissom said. "I promise."

Greg looked around the room and it seemed all eyes were on him. It made him feel uncomfortable. They were all waiting on an answer.

"Son, this is important." Brass said. "This is hard for you, but we need to know what you know. If this is our guy," he nodded to the picture Catherine was holding. "Then I will personally be the one to throw his ass in jail. He won't hurt you or anyone ever again."

Greg was so fragile and pale that he might faint at any given moment. Worried, Nick was about to suggest they stop.

Greg turned his attention back to the picture, swallowed hard and finally spoke. "Th-that's him." He confirmed. "I'm 99% sure."

"Ok! This is good. I'll get a unit and we'll haul him in." Brass said quickly as he whipped out his cell phone and made the call. He cradled the phone between his ear and his shoulder while he used his hands to collect all the pictures.

There was a lot of movement in the room as chairs were pushed and pulled, papers were collected and filed. Brass left in a hurry after exchanging a few words with Grissom. He had been itching for an arrest on this case since day one and now, he finally had his chance.

"You did good Greg." Nick offered with enthusiasm.

The hard part was over but Greg was still quite shaken by what happened. Slightly hunched over, he stared blankly at the table.

"Greg? You ok?" Catherine asked.

There was a constricting sensation developing in his chest. The tightness made breathing a rather difficult task. He closed his eyes for a second to try and control the discomfort.

"You don't look so good." Catherine said as she took a closer look at the young CSI.

"I – I'm fine. I just can't breathe so well." Greg replied with his breath deepening slightly. Feeling suffocated, he nearly flew into a panic.

"Greg, you need to relax." Catherine coaxed. She stroked Greg's back in an effort to calm him.

"Somehow, I knew this was a bad idea." Nick said with regret. "We shouldn't have called you in."

"You're gonna be alright. Deep inhales and exhales." Grissom said to Greg.

Greg whimpered and looked desperately at his friends for support. He felt lightheaded and sick – he wasn't sure if that was a result from the inability to breathe or was it caused by something else entirely. He wondered if he was going to pass out. But the source was revealed immediately when his stomach lurched.

Greg unexpectedly sprang up from his seat and stumbled to the trash can a few feet away from the table. Nearly tripping his way over, he dropped to his knees and clutched the side of the garbage liner. He vomited the contents of his stomach.

The others exchanged worried glances. Grissom stepped forward and knelt down beside Greg, who was trying to recover from the heaving. It seemed all the energy had expelled from his body and he was just left there, green-faced and weak.

"I'm sorry, Grissom. I'm such a wimp. I – I thought I could do this. But I dunno what happened." Greg blurted.

"No, no Greg – quite on the contrary. It took a lot of courage to do what you did today. You identified your attacker. We're very proud of your bravery." Grissom said.

"I – I don't feel very brave. Puking out my guts in front of you all." Greg said. It was rather embarrassing.

"Nerves were all it was." Catherine excused. "Understandable. I probably would've done the same."

Greg stared at the pulpy vomit in the trash can and wondered if he was going to hurl a second time. He was afraid of removing himself from the garbage too soon.

"Come on Greg." Nick said as he pulled Greg to his feet whether he was ready or not. Greg's knees buckled slightly but he steadied himself.

"You should go home and get some rest." Grissom said. Seeing Greg's appearance worried him and the others. They weren't used to witnessing Greg so frightened and terrified.

"Have you got a ride home? One of us can drop you off." Catherine asked.

"My mom's gonna pick me up." Greg said weakly. It was pretty obvious that Greg was not feeling well.

"Ok, then let's go to the little boy's room and get you cleaned up." Nick said.

Greg nodded obediently and was about to follow Nick out the door when Grissom spoke.

"Greg." Grissom called. Greg turned around. "Thank you for doing this. I'll check on you later?"

Greg gave another silent nod and exited the room. He left Grissom and Catherine looking tense with concern.

"I don't like this Grissom." Catherine said observantly. "He doesn't look good at all. I'm afraid this case might bring him over the edge. We need to protect him."

"I know." Grissom muttered, absorbed in his own thoughts. "I know..."

End of Chapter 8

Author's Note: Thanks for reading!! And thank you for being so patient with me. I know it took a while to post this chapter. Anyway, please sign a review if you get a chance!


End file.
